#my next project is scene drawings!! i am SO EXCITED

[hershelwidget]

Grade School (ft. Warren)!

YIPPIE!! I got it done before Saturday! That’s pretty amazing by my standards~ I had to cut out the “(ft. Warren)” in their name because it would cover Spinach Can more than she is already being covered. Anyway, had a lot of fun colouring AND outfit designing, I know I have Not Shut Up About This but Bread Boy is probably my favourite part of this one. Everyone looks very cute though, god they look squishy and soft I love it!!

Grade School (ft. Warren)’s scene is them trying to decide who they can and can’t trust in the house. Warren is presenting his argument for either Steak or Fridge being the shapeshifter, while Spinach Can and Bread Boy disagree and rather believe in Sketchbook or Coffin being to blame. Lily & Todney are the only ones currently accounting for the fact that it was most likely Lamp, Electracey, or Briefcase, and Todney is trying to point that out. The only thing these five agree on right now is that everyone is suspicious.

[sailoryooons]

Gods of the Dark | One | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Dream god!Yoongi x f. human!reader

☾ Summary: Don’t ask for help in the dark. It’s an old tale you always heard whispered among the people of your village. But when you find yourself dragged kicking by the man you’re to marry, you have little choice but to beg for help long after the sun has set. The god who answers your pleas promises to save you, but every deal comes with a price. 

☾ Word Count: 21,606

☾ Genre: Fantasy, angst, strangers to lovers, smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Sexist and patriarchal society inspired by medieval europe, a lot of world building and discussion about theories/concept of dreams, discussions of morals and ethics, world building, angst, intense fight scenes, mentions/light depictions of an abusive family, discussions of gender roles and forced marriages, attempted murder via drowning, a physical fight between a man and a woman in the middle of a storm, sexual dream sequences featuring making out, biting (light), grinding, reader having flashbacks of trauma, a lot of thoughts about reader's terrible parents, a sort of power imbalance in the sense that reader is in Yoongi's realm as a part of a deal.

☾ Published: July 9, 2023

☾ A/N: It's finally here! This was originally supposed to be two giant chapters, but I cannot manage my time in a way to write to ~40k chapters and also fit all of this in a way that is not overwhelming or feels like it makes sense, so I have chosen to do this in 4 chapters of roughly 20k words! Thank you to everyone who has hyped me up for this idea, helped me work out some ideas, or listened to me struggle to write this because I was so unsure about the chemistry between Yoongi and reader at first. I am really excited to be writing this and have taken this in quite a different direction than the original idea when I had when I watched the Lilith MV, but that's okay. I heavily draw on inspiration from the Lilith MV, the song Possession of a Weapon by Ashnikko, The Sandman by Neil Gaiman, the movie The Witch, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab and the original myth of Hades and Persephone (where I got the deal/living in Yoongi's world idea from).

Special thank you to my amazing beta team who really helped make this fic what it is and make sure it was legible: @theharrowing and @here2bbtstrash

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve

Change like a season

-

It begins with rain.

White sheets of it beating against the window in a gentle murmur, a soft leak in the corner of the kitchen dripping into the metal bucket your mother has set out. The storm brings a cool wind with it, blowing in on the back porch where your father rocks back and forth in his chair, watching the deluge. 

Shivering, you throw another log into the fireplace, pulling your shawl closer as orange embers spark and crackle, drifting up the shute. The smell of burning cedar grows and you smile, sitting down in front of the licking flames and holding out your hands to warm your palms. 

Behind you at the kitchen table, your mother pulls a thread and needle through a dress she’s been working on, stitching purple flowers into the sleeves. You wonder if she’s making it for the neighbor's daughter, a girl a few years younger than you to be wed soon. 

Mother makes some of the best stitching in the village, her practiced hands etching artful flowers and vines and designs on the sleeves and skirts of most of the village women. She’s tried for years to pass the craft on to you, but your fingers aren’t nearly as nimble and your eye for art is sorely lacking. 

What you lack in art you make up for in stories, though. Head in the clouds, swimming in worlds, places and things you’ve never seen. Lives and people who only exist in your mind, entire fantasies with more colors and sights and smells than your tiny little world contains. 

You’d write them down if you could. Writing and reading is not a woman’s craft, though, and you know better than to press your father on the subject any further than you have in the past. A terse word from him and your raw knuckles after being forced to do the wash alone for weeks kept you from bringing up the topic of learning to read and write ever again, especially when you remember the sting of his slap when you pushed too far.

Still, you have your mind. You have the ability to dream up worlds and twist fantasies together, to daze off and pretend that you’re somewhere else. That you’re living another life.

You have the days where you finish working at the inn early, sitting in the corner of the room with hard bread and cheese, listening to the town’s storyteller whisper tales and myths to the children of the village.

For now, it will suffice. 

When the rain finally slows in the late afternoon, it’s cloudy and cool outside, the perfect temperature for a walk. Pulling on a pair of linen pants and a tunic, you creep toward the door, hoping to avoid the attention of your parents as they begin to prepare dinner in the kitchen, their movements methodical and silent. 

Carefully, you slide boots on your feet. As you reach for the front door, hidden from the view of the kitchen, you hear your mother call your name. You pause, closing your eyes and grimacing as you call back, “Yes?”

“Where are you going? It’s wet and cold outside.”

“Just for a short walk.”

“You’re going to catch a cold,” she protests. Her steps move near you. You pull the door open and step into the wet air, eager to get away from her. “Come help us with dinner.”

“I’ll see you shortly, the weather is lovely!”

Before your mother can come around the corner and pin you with her disappointed stare, you’re down the slippery steps and sloshing into the yard, mud and grass sucking at your steps as you hurry. You hear your father yell something like dammit, girl but you can’t be sure, the sounds of birds and the bugs swallowing his curses as you rush through the front yard.

The world is covered in a layer of fine mist, tree boughs heavy with rain as they drip drip drip onto the forest floor around you. Thick, gray clouds hide the sun still. Thunder rolls in the distance, promising more rain through the night. You don’t mind, diving into the darkness of the trees on a well-worn path through the woods.

Water floods the path up to the ankle, soaking your boots. You grin and kick your feet as you walk, watching the ripples flow outward. Water mosquitoes dance on top of the surface of the flood and you note little tadpoles swim by, confirming that the river by your house is flooding up over the bank and washing into the mainland. 

This is common most summers. Your house is out of the way from the town, almost a thirty minute walk. This far north, you’re only ten minutes from the edge of the slow-moving river that floods yearly turning the land around your property into a marsh. 

It’s your favorite time of year. A heron startles as you wander through the trees, shaking its white wings and shedding water as it hurries away on long, thin legs. You spot a snake swimming through the reeds, rushing away from you once it senses you sloshing through. 

Closer to the river, you pause. It’s hard to tell where the embankment dips down with it flooded. You can see where the flood moves faster, powered by the depth of the river and the overflow from the lake up north. Leaning against a tree, you look around this world of water. 

It seems alien. Trees block out the sky and are reflected in the surface of the flood, giving the illusion that you stand between two worlds, two dimensions. 

What would that be like, you wonder. 

According to the high priest in town, there are other dimensions. There are the heavens for the gods of light and love, who bless the world with fire and harvest and rain and oceans, who protect the people and who will absolve you of all sin and greed if you pray to them hard enough and accept them as your patrons. Who will love you only if you are devout.

You don’t believe in them for a second. If those gods of love and light do exist, they are not entirely good. They have never answered your prayers, have never saved you from pain or from sorrow. You have begged the gods to give you a new life, to let you leave. To let you go somewhere far away.

They have been silent. They were silent when your father beat you after the first time you rejected a marital match. They didn’t help you when he burned all your materials when you tried to teach yourself the shapes and sounds of letters.

So you stopped praying to them. 

There are other gods, of course. Other places for the wicked, dark gods full of trickery and greed, who seek only to fill the world with sin and deceit, who desire to make humans suffer and lose themselves in hedonism and debauchery. Those gods have a place too, the dark underworld for those who should be punished and reminded what it is to be full of sin. 

You’ve never prayed to them either, too afraid of what it would cost you. But you wonder if they answer or if they too watch the world from a mountain so high that they cannot bother to help those who need it. 

Still, you wonder what it would be like to walk between two worlds. To see one reflected in the other, to fall face first into the cool water only to surface in another place, almost an exact replica of where you’re from. 

It would be nice. Perhaps there you wouldn’t be a disappointing daughter who has turned away every suitor in the village, much to your father’s rage. There, you would be allowed to pursue reading and writing. You’d have the agency to sail the world and see the ocean for the first time, to feel the freezing spray of the seas on your face while you hunt the coast for something lost. 

Always something lost. 

In all of your fantasies, you’re looking for something. Sometimes, you’re not sure what it is you’re looking for, you just know that something needs to be found. Other times, it’s a specific object or a person, something that, deep down, you know represents the thing you desire to find most: freedom. 

A small school of fish swim by your feet. They can’t be any larger than your pinky finger, scurrying along before they’re swept up in the suction of the flowing river. Sighing, you push off the tree and begin to head back home, swatting at your bare arms where gnats bite at your sweaty skin. 

Dark presses in as you walk back. You had stayed in the woods later than you intended, mind drifting far off among the sounds of the world around you. A cool tingle slides down your neck as you walk, water breaking around you. 

You pause. It’s the same feeling that you get whenever you spend far too long in the woods and the sun goes down. It feels like there’s someone there with you, just at your back. Slowly, you turn to look over your shoulder but there’s no one there, just the warm press of something you can’t see. 

When it happened the first time, you’d been so afraid you ran home. Now, though, you smile and look down at the ground as you keep walking. The presence, whether it’s real or something you have made up in your head, is always comforting. Always there, a gentle press of feeling. 

There are candles burning in the windows and an owl hoots in greeting when your house appears. Inside, you kick off your shoes and rush to meet your parents at the silent dinner table. Both of them look up at you, your mother’s mouth pinched, eyes weary. Your father’s gaze is thunderous as he picks up cutlery and begins to cut into his potato in saw-like motions, his knuckles going white.

You sit down without a word, bow your head to pretend to pray. Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention. “It’s after dark. You missed your prayers.” 

It doesn’t matter. You weren’t going to pray anyway. But the way your parents look at you makes you drop your eyes down to the table, their expressions alarmed. Were you really about to pray after the sunset, when the benevolent gods were no longer listening? The only gods available to you now are dangerous. Violent. Tricky. 

Dinner is dry and too heavily salted. Still, you don’t complain. Somewhere in the world, you’re sure that there are wonderful feasts being held. Plates and platters of honey-glazed meats, roasted pheasant and charred filets. Whipped sweets and colorful confectionaries, dripping fruits and sugary drinks. 

None of those places exist anywhere that you’ve ever seen, but you like to imagine them as you chew your way through an oppressively silent meal. He says nothing, but you can tell your father is angry once again. Just as well, he at least keeps it to himself through the meal and says nothing when you’re done. 

“I’ll do the dishes,” you offer quickly when your parents finish. It’s an olive branch and they know it. They accept anyway, letting you gather plates as the soft hush of rain begins again. 

Rain washes out the night. You can’t see anything beyond the water that runs off the roof over the back porch as you dip your rag into warm water, scrubbing at the plates before setting them to dry in the stack next to you. 

Frogs croak, their loud voices blending together into the roar of the rain. Every now and again, lightning flashes above and thunder shakes the sky. You feel it vibrate through your ribs and you smile, inhaling the charged air. 

“... doesn’t have a choice!” You turn toward the open doorway. You can’t see your parents but the window is open to their room, voices coming in and out of the rain. “... force her! I’ve had… and he’s already agreed.”

You frown, stopping your scrubbing to lean further, straining your ears. “This won’t go well,” your mother says. 

“I don’t give a damn! It’s already done, woman. Enough.”

The rest of the conversation is drowned out by thunder. You frown and turn back to your task, trying to piece together what they’re talking about. You think back to your mother stitching the dress before dinner and think perhaps they’re gossiping about the neighbor again. She wasn’t happy that she was being married off and everyone knew it.

Still, she’s doing it. She’s stronger than you. It’s hard to imagine going through with something you don’t want, to live a life shackled to another person who doesn’t love you. Whose only purpose is to coexist with you and reproduce. To run a household and get through each and every day, the same as last.

It’s hard to say if your parents are in love. They are tender, at times, but you can’t ever point out a moment that your mother or father seem truly happy. Content isn’t the same as happiness. Not really. While they work together well and seem to have struck up a balance after the years, there’s nothing in the way they move through life that seems joyful. 

You had asked your mom if she was happy once. She gave you a funny look and said, I have a roof above my head and food on the table. How could I not be? 

Her response puzzles you still. To live is not to be happy. Being alive is just that - being alive. A bare minimum. But truly being happy is something else. At least, that’s how you understand it. How the heroes and characters in stories and tales live their lives, fighting for happiness. 

Later that night, you forget all about their whispers behind the sheets of rain. You’re tired and the storm is soothing, making you dream of a far away land where there are two armies entrenched in war, battling for their kingdoms and lighting the sky with storm magic. 

Another dream. Another fantasy. 

-

In your dream, a soft mouth meets yours. The kiss is slow, tongue dragging against yours, tasting of something sweet, mouth warm. It smells like clove and cinnamon, and though you don’t open your eyes to see the mouth that slides against yours, you know you are safe. 

-

It ends in darkness.

Dusk has settled around your home like a funeral shroud. Your father has been gone all day, your mother flippant when you ask about his whereabouts. Your mother is a painted picture of anxiety: mouth pinched, darting eyes that fail to meet yours, and hunched shoulders. It makes your palms sweat, the way she avoids you in the house. 

Rain comes down in patterns again, bands of storms floating by and turning the world gray. You don’t have to go to the inn with the road flooded, so you spend the day at the window instead, watching each storm flash by, listening to the frogs and watching the birds pick through bug-filled waters between each deluge. 

When the sun begins to set, you find your mother standing near the window, looking through wet glass as she chews the corner of her lip. She wipes her hands on her dress, not picking up that you’re standing in the doorway watching her.

The gown she has been stitching for the past few days lays on the table. It’s a beautiful thing, bursting with intricate flowers on the sleeves and the skirts. You don’t enjoy dresses - much less the kind for marriage - but you admire the careful needlework. 

“It’s a good dress,” you tell her. She startles from where she stands at the window, whirling around to face you. “One of your best.”

“Yes. I-” something crosses her face that’s unreadable. “Would you try it on for me? I want to make sure I got the sizing right.”

You shrug and pick it up. It’s not the first time she’s used you for sizing and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You just hope that she doesn’t make you stand on a stool for hours to place pins in the skirt, mapping where she needs to take in the seams and make the fabric fold. 

The material is a little scratchy when you put it on. It’s snug across the chest and a little bit long at the wrist, but the material ripples over you like water. Outside of your room, the sound of your father’s voice echoes. He sounds more jovial than usual, laughing loudly - another voice is with him. 

Frowning, you work the buttons on the side of the dress to secure it shut, pulling the fabric into place. It isn’t often that your father has guests over, but you can assume it’s one of his friends he has over for dinner. You make a sour face at the thought that perhaps it’s Mr. Laudermill and his son Nathaniel again, a family your father has tried to pawn you off on before. 

The list of people your father has tried to get you to marry is astounding. It’s become a joke in the town, a game of who will he ask next? At first, there were plenty of families who offered their sons to make the union. Now, after how vehemently you have protested for your right to pick your husband yourself, it’s you who is rejected when your father makes dowry offers.

It seems - much to your advantage - that the men of the town and even the neighboring villages grew tired of the girl who liked to say no. It gives you small satisfaction to know that sheer inconvenience has earned you freedom alongside your mother’s unwillingness to force you. 

Still, the Laudermills are a little persistent. Not your father’s favorite option he has ever brought up, but it was one that didn’t say no. 

You enter the main house with minor trepidation, uneager to spend the evening sighing at Nathaniel’s terrible jokes and attempts to win you over. You wonder if it’s sheer pride that brings him back this time, upset that he cannot beat the town's little conundrum. The unconquerable conquest. You get the feeling that’s why he and his father visit for dinner sometimes, Nathaniel’s pride unwilling to back down from the challenge. 

You’d respect him more if he had more admiration for the word no. 

Nathaniel and his father are in the main room of your home, speaking in laughing tones to your father. Your mother stands near the open back door, hands wringing together. There is another person in your house that you don’t expect, though. The village’s high priest nods his head along with something that your father is saying, wrinkled hands clasped in front of his robes.

Time seems to slow down. You take in the tight expression on your mother’s face, her eyes drifting over to the priest who is dressed in ceremonial purple robes, an air of professional courtesy about him. He’s nodding to Nathaniel who is speaking now, and it’s when you really look at him, dressed in nice linen pants, a long sleeved shirt and an ornate vest, that you put the pieces together. 

Too slowly do you react as your father turns to you. His smile is forced and his gaze is burning with warning when he gestures. “There’s our bride!”

The word sinks in like a blade. Right between the ribs and up, its point poking dangerous at your heart as your blood begins to roar in your ears. You’re frozen to the spot, staring at them from the threshold of your room. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your neck, your hands shaking. 

“You look beautiful,” Nathaniel says, grinning. It’s a genuine smile, a proud one. Something that says finally. “I’m so glad you’re ready, after all this time.”

“I… what?”

In a moment of razor-sharp clarity, you remember the conversation your parents were having last night, soft words whispered under the cover of the storm. You remember something about forcing her and someone having already agreed. 

No. No. Nonononononono. 

You don’t realize you’re speaking out loud as you back up into your room, the horror settling in as the rain begins to tap on the roof. Your mother looks crestfallen but remains silent as your father’s smile tightens and his face reddens. 

When he says your name, it’s full of warning. The back of your legs hit your bed and your weak knees buckle. You sit down with a huff and shake your head. “You can’t do this,” you whisper. You can’t find your voice, can’t work your throat louder. “You cannot make me marry.”

“Of course I can,” your father hisses. His smile drops and in its place is something dangerous. Horrific. The villain of all your dreams and epic fantasies. “I have given you more than enough time to choose. You have not. As the man of this house-”

“No!” you bark back, cutting him off and shooting to your feet. “I am a person-”

“You are a woman!” he roars, making the high priest flinch. “Your purpose is to grow up, get married, mind the household and provide an heir! You are the only fiendish woman in this entire forsaken village who seems to misunderstand this!”

“It is not my purpose!”

“It is, and you will fulfill it!” he hisses. “You will marry this man before the gods, with my blessing and the witness of the priest.” 

Behind you, thunder rolls. The rain comes down harder. Frogs croak loudly, bracketed by the sound of the trees bending with the weight of the wind. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the people before you. Your mother with tears in her eyes, your father with fury in his face, the priest with disappointment and Nathaniel. Nathaniel with glee. With a grin. With a smirk. 

“I won’t do it,” you whisper. 

Before they can argue, you turn on your heel and leap onto your bed. Your father and Nathaniel rush at the doorway, their steps pounding behind you as you crawl through the window, your ribs slamming on the sill as you lean face forward. Rain soaks you immediately, your hands gripping the sill as you haul your middle half over the edge, intending to just flip down into the mud. 

Hands yank at your legs and you scream, a feral sound ripping through your lungs as you kick backward violently. You’re yanked back toward your room viciously, rib cage aching where you slide on the concrete frame. With another savage kick, you make contact and hear a loud shout before the hands drop from your waist. 

Pushing harshly, you throw yourself the rest of the way through the window, falling the few feet down to land with a splash. Your father is screaming inside the house but you’re already slipping to your feet, whatever he says drowned out in the rain. 

You don’t even think. You run, hands picking up the wet-leaden skirts on your dress as you tear off toward the woods. Water rushes around your ankles as you go and you hear commotion at the window as someone clambers through. You don’t dare turn around as you rush to the line of trees, unafraid of the dark but terrified of the slamming footsteps behind you.

It’s impossible to be fast in the flooded woods. You wince as your feet get cut up on rocks and sharp sticks that you can’t see. You trip over roots and kick solid things as you slog forward, biting back a cry as you try to flee. 

“Get back here, you wretched bitch!” Nathaniel screams behind you. 

It never occurred to you that he could say something so violent. It spurs you forward, mud and water sucking your feet down and making your flight sticky and slow. Rain pelts down between the leaves, the storm lighting up the treetops with purple flashes every now and again. Thunder shakes their branches and rumbles through your feet, the water rushing higher and higher. 

Nathaniel slams into you at the waist. You scream as he takes you down, his weight on top of you. Your scream is cut off as your mouth fills with water. You swallow in a panic, body thrumming with alarm as you choke, nose full of water, eyes burning. You can hear the dull roar of water, the swish of your tangled limbs on the floor. 

Clawing at him, you feel your nails rip down soft flesh and hear a muted yell. He lifts his weight off of you and you sit forward, breaking the surface and gasping for air, retching. Your lungs and nose burn as you gasp for air, fighting to get a breath in. 

Nathaniel is on you again, his hand going for your hair as he digs his fingers in hard, yanking at your scalp. Your hands fly to his wrist and you scream again, pulling at him, trying to free yourself. Tears smart your eyes from the stinging pain as he yanks hard enough that you think he’ll tear you right apart. 

“Fucking ungrateful,” he barks.

Your feet slide in the mud as he uses your buoyancy in the knee deep water to haul you back toward the house. You twist in his grip, mewling in panic and pain as you work to get your feet under you and fight back. You let go of his arm and throw a weak punch at his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t let go, even as you twist, hands shooting to the ground, digging through soaked earth and weeds until you feel the hard, rough shape of a rock. 

Grabbing it, you lift your hand from the water and bring it down hard on Nathaniel’s wrist. He screams and lets go of your hair. Your fingers ache from the blow but you don’t waste precious minutes, scrambling to your feet and sloshing away from him again. He’s already gripping at your dress, fingers ripping at the fabric to get a hold of you. 

Desperation claws at you and you scream for help. You don’t know if anyone else is out here in the dark of the woods but you don’t care. Bleeding, in pain, and terrified, you tear through the water, the rock clutched in your fingers, rushing in the dark as Nathaniel gives chase.

“Please!” you scream at the dark. “Anyone, please!” 

A thread of thought slivers through you about the gods. Praying to the gods has never gotten you anywhere. It didn’t make your father let you read. It didn’t get you out of your town. It didn’t save you from this. The supposed gods who rule with light and love had never heard you and you had long stopped believing in them.

But you’d never prayed to the gods of the dark. The gods who only listen to words whispered after the setting sun. 

“Please,” you beg, turning your head to the dark sky. Lighting flashes and thunder rumbles. Cool wind brushes against your face, wind that feels like it whispers I’m listening. “Please,” you scream again. “Help me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Help me!”

Nathaniel takes you down by the waist again. You gasp for air this time as your face slaps the water with a sting. The current is rushing faster here, pulling at you. Deeper. Colder. You’re close to the river, and you feel the suction of the force of the flow tugging at your body as Nathaniel digs his fingers into the meat of your arms. 

This time, he doesn’t pull you with him. He holds you down, shoving you deeper and deeper until you realize that he’s no longer interested in bringing you back. You kick at him, you tear at him. You slam his wrist with the rock again but his other hand grabs yours, wrenching the weapon away from you. 

Your lungs are screaming and water is rushing into your nose as oxygen escapes you. His grip is firm and you begin to panic. All you can think is help help help help. Please help. 

Bubbles escape your mouth as you’re forced to breathe out again. You’re running out of time and pain starts to build in your chest. You feel the way your lungs squeeze, needing air. You let out more air and press your lips tight, desperately trying not to inhale. 

Breathe in, your instincts scream. Breathe breathe breathe breathe. 

Agony. You’re in agony as you open your mouth in a final cry, unable to form the words. Unable to scream and ask for a higher power that you only believe in at this moment to help you. 

Water fills your mouth. You swallow it whole, feel it go down as you begin to spasm. 

You’re going to die. 

And then Nathaniel’s hands are gone. It takes you a moment to realize that there’s no crushing grip on your arms and in the brief moment of realization, you barely manage to push up. To break the surface and vomit, water coming out of you in a stinging, horrid mess. Your stomach turns and you feel your chest squeeze as you choke.

The storm is still raging around you, water pulling at you and pressing you into the rough bark of a tree. Blinking tears from your eyes, you look around but it’s too dark to see. You can hear Nathaniel looking for you, screaming your name in the dark. 

The back of your neck tingles. There’s a feeling in the air behind you - that sliver of breath that you often sense when you’re out in the woods alone just after dark. Like something or someone is there with you, just behind you. 

“What is it you want?” a deep, dark voice whispers. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel chilled to the bone. The voice is like none you’ve ever heard, sensual and dizzying. 

“Want?”

“You asked for help.” The voice switches to your other ear and you don’t dare turn around to find the speaker. “What do you want?” 

“What can you give?”

The voice chuckles. The sound makes you shiver, your eyelids fluttering. The voice purrs, “I can give you anything you dream, little lamb. Tell me: what do you want?”

You think about it. Lightning lances through the sky and for a brief moment, the world is a flash of silver. You see Nathaniel in the light, a few feet away from you. He’s bloody and heaving, his eyes snapping to where you hide against the tree.

“Freedom,” you gasp as the world falls to darkness again. “I want freedom.”

“What will you give me?”

“What do you want?” you beg, hearing Nathaniel move toward you.

There’s a soft hum and you feel lightheaded at the sound. “Your time.”

“My time?”

“Your time in exchange for freedom, little lamb. Better hurry, this offer is about to expire.” 

Nathaniel screams in a rage. Sloshes closer to you. Your heartbeat quickens. You can feel it in your chest, hear it in your ears, your pulse throbbing as he nears. 

“Okay,” you whisper, voice coming out shaky. 

“Then tell me you accept.”

You take a deep breath. “I accept.” 

There’s a brush at the nape of your neck, warm and soft. Though you’ve never been kissed before, you think that it’s the press of lips, intimate and barely there. Something inside you flickers to life, like a new instinct that has opened its eyes for the first time. You’re aware of another presence, a soft buzz that presses down on you as it stands up next to you. 

Thunder rolls and you feel someone brush by you.  A hand touches your cheek almost fondly, fingers dragging along the curve of your jaw. Blinking slowly, you lean into the touch, seeking its comfort. You don’t know who it belongs to. All you know is that just the feel of fingers on your skin has your stomach flipping, your toes curling. 

The hand drops from your face and you immediately miss the contact. Opening your eyes, you see another flash of lightning. There’s someone standing in front of you dressed in black, slick with rain. You can’t make out anything much, just the shape of a man in a dark cloak. 

A god. You know he’s a god, whoever this savior is. You know that something has heard your screams in the dark and has come to give you what you wanted. What you begged for. 

“She is no longer available to you,” the god announces to Nathaniel. It’s not the same whisper as a moment ago, but a deep, raspy voice. Dark. Demanding. “She’s mine.” 

“That’s my betrothed,” Nathaniel answers, though it comes out like a question, his voice trembling. “I– she belongs to-”

“Me,” the dark god assures. A loud clap of thunder makes you flinch. “Goodbye, Nathaniel Laudermill.” 

Nathaniel screams. You don’t know what happens. There’s just his shout of terror in the dark and a roll of thunder that shakes the trees and rattles the earth. You feel the vibration in the water from the unearthly thunder before you realize that this sound, this trembling, is the wrath of a god. 

The sound fades and the shaking stops. You feel more than see the god in front of you turn to face you, a sweeping warmth as he bends down. You cannot make out any features, your vision swimming with bursts of color in the lack of light. 

“You’re with me now,” he assures you. “And you should not be afraid.” 

Gentle hands reach out and cradle your face. You’re suddenly tired, every pain in your body weighing you down like stones, pulling at you until you’re closing your eyes and succumbing to the heavy exhaustion.

The last thing you remember is your whispered name on reverent lips. 

-

You’re dreaming. Your eyes are closed in this dream but you feel light and warm. Fingers brush over your cheek, soft and reverent. You hear a gentle, deep humming, a pleasant melody. It smells like clove and cinnamon, making you drift further into the dream. You lean into the hand cupping your face and hear a deep chuckle before drifting off into nothingness. 

-

The first thing you notice is the smell of clove and cinnamon. It’s a soothing scent that sends your heart fluttering as you roll over. The blankets wrapped around you feel divine, soft with a high loft that feels like you’re wrapped in clouds. The mattress is decadent, sucking you in further as you settle in on your side, inhaling deeply.

Then you remember hands tearing at your legs. Ripping you by the hair. Water filling your lungs and throat. The flash of lightning and the cold rain as you were dragged under a flood again and again. 

With a gasp you sit up in bed, heart hammering. You still as you look around, mouth dropping open at the opulent room. The bed is the largest thing you’ve ever seen, on a low platform swimming with charcoal colored sheets and pillows. The headboard looks like polished obsidian, glinting in the low light provided by dozens of flickering candles.

Stone walls make up the room, rough rock with sconces of flickering flames. The room is sprawling with a sitting area a step down from the bed, decorated with chaise lounges, a coffee table and high-backed chairs situated in front of a fireplace. Flames crackle on a log, orange light dancing across the room. On either side of the fireplace are bookshelves that stretch up to the high ceiling.

Across from the bed are open double doors where you can see a magnificent bathroom. From your vantage point, you can just make out sinks carved from a hewn rock and what looks like a trickling waterfall sluicing down the wall. 

Turning to the left, there is a set of glass doors, a balcony just on the other side. It appears to be nighttime outside, thousands of stars glittering through the glass and the largest moon you’ve ever seen suspended in the sky like a lone coin.

Carefully, you peel back the covers. You’re still in the wedding dress your mother made you. It’s stained and tattered and bloodied, making your stomach flip uncomfortably as you look down on it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you place your feet on the stone flooring, expecting it to be cold to the touch. 

It isn’t. Warmth radiates from the floor through the soles of your feet, making you sigh, tension bleeding from your shoulders as you close your eyes for a moment. Though the aches and the pains from being scratched and hit and torn down are gone, you wince as you recall them. 

Your parents were going to force you to marry Nathaniel. You don’t know how you missed the signs before, how you thought that there was any other path. With your elbows pressed to your knees, you hang your head in your hands, pressing your eyes shut and taking another shuddering breath.

This time, a sob slips out. Somehow, you had tricked yourself into thinking that your parents would abide by your wishes to make your own choices. Foolish, you realize. Your father had not grown complacent. He had been biding his time, waiting to strike. 

The smallest viper has the greatest sting.

And your mother was going to let him do it. The woman who had brought you into the world screaming and bloody was going to pass you off to a man, even if it meant that man dragged you kicking and screaming to the altar. 

Disgust curls in your stomach and your hands turn into firsts, pressing against your closed lids and making bursts of colors flash in your eyes. Split down the middle, one part of you mourns the loss of the parents you thought that you had. The other is an open wound, festering with a hateful infection at the very thought of them. 

The sound of the door opening catches your attention. Your heart leaps as you sit up straight, dropping your hands into your lap as a man slips through the large double doors near the sitting area. Your breath catches in your chest as he sweeps into the room, looping his hands behind his back as he sets his dark eyes on you and approaches. 

He’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen, you think. Inky hair falls into his enigmatic eyes. His skin is deep gold, a contrast to the all-black blouse that he wears tucked into black pants. You see the open collar of his shirt revealing a patch of tan skin and an elegant throat, but it’s his face that shatters your mind. 

The man - or god, you think - has a square, masculine jaw offset with a delicate mouth the color of rose petals. His nose is straight and wide and would look ridiculous on anyone else. On him, it’s the perfect balance, his cheekbones high and angular, cutting the roundness of his nose. 

“Good to see you’re awake,” he greets. The man stops at the edge of the step that leads to where the bed sits higher than the rest of the room. You stare and stare and stare at him, unable to process words as he grins at you. His voice is dulcet and warm, but not the voice that promised to save you. “How do you feel?”

“I…” you rasp out and you shake your head, unable to think of anything else.

His mouth quirks and he nods. “It sounds like you had a terrible time. How about you take a well-deserved bath and get out of that terrible dress? Sorry to have left you in it, I was under strict instructions not to invade your personal space.”

“Yes, please.” You hesitate. “Where am I? Whose instructions?”

“You’re somewhere safe with someone who wants you to remain safe.” 

“Where is safe?”

He gives you a secretive smile as he nods toward the bathroom before turning on his heel and striding away. On unsteady feet, you follow him. It helps that the floor is warm, giving you the strength you need to make it down the two steps and across the stone toward the bathroom. 

“I don’t think I’m the right person to answer your question,” he admits. “I’m just here to help you get settled. My name is Taehyung, by the way.”

“Taehyung.” You say the word, familiarizing yourself with the shape of it as you enter the room and stop. 

The bathroom is far more luxurious than you realized from afar. There is a waterfall running down the black rockface between two basins, trickling into a little fountain that drains on the floor. To the right side of the bathroom is a large body of steaming water. 

Herbal scents fill the room as you near the edge of the dark surface of the water. It reminds you of hot springs in a cave near the southern villages, a place you’d only heard of but never seen. It’s massive, surrounded by a smooth, stone edge. There is a corner full of what appears to be salts, soaps and herbs alongside flickering candles. 

Opposite the hot spring is a giant glass window that overlooks mountains and lush greenery. From the window, you can see the entire world of wherever you are stretched out in the most dazzling and wonderful display. You can’t help but feel as though you’re somewhere that belongs in the epitome of night.

“How deep is that?” you ask, turning to Taehyung with a wary expression as you gesture to the body of water. 

His expression softens. “Waist high when you stand in the middle. There is a ledge that you can sit on all the way around. It’s incredibly safe and very warm. I can stand just outside the door if anything goes wrong.”

“Okay.” 

Taehyung points to a stack of clothes resting on a stool near a cabinet full of towels and jars of things. “Those are for you to change into. The towels are for you to dry off, of course. Anything in the bathroom is yours to use.” Taehyung must sense your hesitation, because he gives you a soft smile. “You’re safe here. I promise.” 

“I’d feel better if I knew where here was.”

“Bathe. Relax. Then I’ll take you to him.” 

Taehyung does not give you a chance to ask to whom he refers. He strides out of the room and the door swings shut seemingly on its own. You blink a few times at it, standing in the middle of the warm bathroom in a daze.

Spinning, you look around the room and find yourself drawn to the window. Up close, you realize how high up you are. It’s a bit dizzying, and you look  down at the ground only to see that there is a garden bursting with purple and blue, neat rows of flowers that stretch until they meet a line of trees. 

A world of mountains unfolds beyond the window. You’ve never seen mountains but they are larger than you could have ever imagined, snowcaps stark against the night sky. It’s mesmerizing and a little too big, so you turn away from the window and head for the steaming basin of water. 

Peaking over the edge, you can see the bottom. It doesn’t look that deep, but your stomach twists as you pop the buttons on your dress. Your fingers feel stiff and disjointed as you work to undress. You look down at the ripped threads and the dirty fabric and think about how much time your mother spent stitching it.

Suddenly the dress feels suffocating and you pull hard on the garment, popping buttons from the threads and sending them clattering on the floor. You shed the dress and kick it away from you, stripping off your undergarments and lowering yourself to the edge of the water. 

A sigh leaves your mouth as you slide your feet and legs in first. The water is hot, though not scalding like you expected. Closing your eyes, you remain sitting on the edge for a moment, letting your calves soak and muscles unwind, fingers gripping the edge tight. 

Taking a deep breath, you slide forward a little, firmly placing your feet on the ledge Taehyung spoke of. For a moment, your fear spikes. You feel it sharp in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the edge of the basin. With a few deep breaths, you carefully slide down to the ledge proper, sinking in the hot water to the chest. 

“I’m not going to drown,” you whisper to yourself. The words come out shaky and you’re not entirely sure that you believe them. “I’m not going to drown, I am not going to drown, I am not going to drown.”

You repeat the mantra until you believe it, your fingers grasping the edge of the stone seat as you try to relax and melt into the water. It takes a while, but you finally grow too tired of remaining tense, taking a deep breath and gaining the courage to relax. 

Gently, you rest your head against the edge of the basin. Heat seeps into your skin and you feel the anxiety bleed out of you, your tensed muscles unwinding. You hadn’t realized how clenched up you were until you let go, and your body sags a little bit in the water. 

Time slips away. Thankfully, your body doesn’t hurt the way you anticipated that it would. Frowning, you press your fingers into your skin where there should be bruises and pain. There is no evidence on your skin that Nathaniel laid his hands on you the night before - the day before? You’re unsure how much time has passed, only that there is an eerie absence of your wounds.

Turning your head, you look at your dress discarded on the floor. There’s certainly evidence of a struggle spattered all over the fabric, but it makes you wonder if the god who answered your prayers has healed you.

A god. 

The thought comes to you in a snap and you stare down at the water, eyes unfocusing as you try to recall the details of what happened. You remember screaming for help, the sound of your desperation ripping through your mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever screamed like that, terrified and wild. You remember thinking about the gods, begging them to hear you, willing them to listen. 

Water had been filling your lungs. Crushing out air. You remember the rush of the stream around you as it pulled at your fighting body. Nathaniel’s hands gripping you and holding you under viciously, fingers like claws as he tried to drown you. 

Then you surfaced and choked, completely shrouded in darkness…. And you remember that quiet voice made of smoke and shadow. Thinking of it now makes you shiver, despite how hot the water is. The voice had promised you freedom in exchange for time and had taken you to wherever this place was. 

You open your eyes, unsure when you had even closed them. Glancing around the room once more, you decide there is no way that you’re anywhere close to home. You’ve never seen anything like this bathroom before, a feat of what appears to be architecture and maybe magic. 

Soaps and salts line the edges of the bathing pool. When you feel brave enough, you dart across the middle like a minnow, trying not to think about how you nearly crossed death’s bridge in a shallow body of water not long ago. 

Unscrewing lids, you smell each of the glass bottles of liquid, humming in delight. You settle on a hard bar of soap that smells like lavender and mint. It feels good to scrub your skin raw. You imagine that you’re washing away all of the memories of Nathaniel’s fingers on your skin and the scratchy dress your mother made for you.

Fingers and feet pruned and skin feeling stripped of a top layer, you reluctantly exit the bath. The towels are the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You run the fabric between your fingers, tilting your head up at the sky and sighing. Wherever this dark god has taken you doesn’t seem so terrifying, yet it puts you more on edge, these luxuries. 

The clothes Taehyung left out for you fit well enough, though it’s obvious they are not your exact measurements. He’s provided you with soft, black pants and a loose, black tunic with intricate designs that look like clouds on the sleeves and collar. 

You hesitate when you’re ready to leave the bathroom. So far, it seems that whatever bargain you’ve struck with this god has been in your favor. But you know you’ve made a deal in a moment of fear, and you’re not entirely sure what you’ve agreed to.

Time.

Though you’re nervous, you can’t stay hidden in the bathroom forever. Nudging the door open, you peek around the edge, gaze sweeping the room as you look for Taehyung. He’s standing in the sitting area, face toward the flickering fire. He looks both terrifying and beautiful, hands linked behind his back as he watches the flames. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Taehyung calls without turning around. “I mean it when I tell you that you’re safe.”

Slipping through the door, you walk toward him, regarding him warily. “Still,” you answer. “I don’t know where I am. Are you even human?”

He does look over his shoulder then, flashing you a wicked grin. “I’m not.” 

Taehyung’s answer doesn’t put you at ease, but you’re unsure what to do. Wordlessly, he gestures for you to follow him as he heads through the door and out of the room. For a moment, you hesitate. What would happen if you refused to leave the room? Is your deal with the god already in effect? What are its limitations? 

You can answer none of the questions you have, so you follow Taehyung, hoping to find answers soon. Except as soon as you step out of the room, you think you might have even more questions. 

The halls are dark and lit with flickering torches, casting an orange glow up to the cavernous ceilings. Though you’ve never been in a castle or seen one, you have an idea of how grand they are. There is no doubt in your mind that this is a castle, the halls resplendent and sweeping with artwork and fabric and statues. 

In front of you, Taehyung walks jovially with his hands linked behind his back. He hums a tune you don’t know, but it sounds smooth and warm. You follow behind him, casting your gaze around as you walk, trying to remember which turns you take and what paintings you pass. 

You reach a tall, closed set of wooden double doors. Taehyung raps his fingers against the door, looking over his shoulder at you with an excited grin. Your stomach flips and you wipe your palms against the bottom of your tunic. Your hands feel shaky and you twine them into the fabric, willing them to stop. 

Taehyung must hear someone on the other side of the door, because he opens it and steps in and to the side, gesturing for you to enter. You take a deep breath and walk by him into the room, stopping immediately as you look up, your mouth falling open. 

It’s a library grander than you could ever imagine. Your town had quite a small library at the church that belonged to the high priest, but this is something beyond your wildest dreams. The ceiling stretches higher than your imagination, filled with floating lights and stars - the entire night sky is stretched above you in swirling constellations of purple and blue. 

Three floors make up the library, each lined with books and windows that look out into the evening. You can see sprawling gardens beyond the tinted glass, but it’s the shelves of books that catch your attention. Stepping into the room further, you slowly spin, looking at the sheer amount of volumes that line the walls. There are multiple seating areas with rich, velvet blue armchairs and couches, tables full of books and papers and ink bottles and maps. 

Your throat tightens as you look at Taehyung, your mouth wobbling. The urge to burst into tears has never felt greater than this moment. You never imagined that you could stand in a room with so many books, and the desire to pull one off the shelf and delve in is cut short by the single, glaring fact that you don’t know how to read them. 

Distracted by the books upon entry, it takes you a moment to notice another presence in the room. You feel a tingle at the back of your neck, one that draws your eyes toward a long table near the fireplace. It’s the same feeling you had when you were saved from Nathaniel, an awareness that buzzes along your skin.

A man stands in front of the table, watching you with dark, feline eyes. He’s beautiful. Otherworldly, really. His round features remind you of the moon, but it’s the sharp eyes and the careful pout of his mouth that draws you in. He looks both delicate and dangerous, and you notice the quirk on his lips as he watches you watch him. 

He’s in all black. Black pants tucked into black, knee-high boots, and a black, long-sleeved shirt. There’s a layer of necklaces around his neck and you can see shapes and runes that are unfamiliar to you. The same runes and shapes are on the rings on his long, delicate fingers, folded in front of him. 

This is the face of a god. You know it in the way that there’s something ancient in his eyes and in the way he glows from within. His power is tangible, a crackling energy pressing up against every nerve in your body. 

“How are you feeling?” his voice vibrates right to your core. Soft and dark like you remember it, though a little rougher now. Gravelly. He studies you, unmoving. “Hopefully well-rested?”

“I feel…. Better.” Finding the words is hard in his presence, especially under the scrutiny of his gaze. You want to dart out of the room and hide, but you also don’t want to leave the library without exploring. “I think I should thank you?”

It comes out as a question and he smirks a little. Your stomach flutters at the sight; he raises a brow. “You’re welcome. Are you hungry? You’ve been asleep for nearly a day.”

The door shuts behind you and you startle, whirling around to see that Taehyung has left you. Your nerves fray further and you turn back to look at the god watching you. Behind him on the table, you realize it is a feast of sorts. Roasted meats and poultry, platters of fruit, plates of cheese and neatly arranged crackers, steaming pans of vegetables and things you cannot identify. 

He notices. “You must be starving. Come. Eat.” When you don’t move, he sighs. “I didn’t save you just to harm you.” 

It’s true enough. You carefully approach the table, eyeing him as he unclasps his hands and pulls out a chair for you. When you hesitate, he arches a dark brow again and you feel yourself grow warm in the face, muttering your thanks as you hurry over to the chair and sit down. 

The god’s presence is buzzing. He doesn’t touch you, but it’s like you feel him anyway, just an inch away from you. He helps you slide your chair in and gives a deep, contented sigh before he moves toward the opposite end of the table, taking the dull hum of energy with him. 

Across the table, he sits. His gaze finds yours again as you stare at him, finding it difficult to look anywhere else. Even with the smell of a divine meal, your attention on him is a fixed point. If this bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he leans back in his seat, casual and confident. 

“Have what you like,” he offers. “I don’t know what you enjoy and I didn’t want to pry.”

The table is full of options. You chew the inside of your cheek. There is glazed duck and roasted ham, creamy looking potatoes and sauced vegetables. Your stomach growls and twists painfully as you stare at your choices. 

“The duck is good,” he offers gently. You glance up. He nods towards the dish in question. “Sorry, it’s probably overwhelming.”

“A little,” you answer, but take him up on his advice and go for the duck. “Where are we?”

“In between.”

You frown as you plate different foods, fingers sticky as you do. You’re hyper-aware of him watching you and you try not to look up, feeling your hands quake as you add roasted veggies to your plate. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what you think it does. We’re at the in-between of all things. Not a solid place in your sense of understanding. It’s not a physical manifestation of a land mass, but it is a world that contains physical things.” 

“A… dimension?”

“Exactly. This is my domain.”

“And what… are you?”

You look up at him then. His lips twitch at the corners and he tongues the inside of his cheek. “A god. But you already knew that.”

“Wanted to hear you say it.” 

Silence falls between you as you pick up a knife and fork, cutting carefully into your meat. You pop it between your lips, sighing when the duck melts on your tongue with the taste of honey and something else. You sag in the chair, not realizing until now how tense you had been to this point. The food sends a wave of warmth through you and the god watches as you take a few bites, patient as you eat.

“This is fantastic,” you say, glancing at him as you reach for a glass of water. “The flavors are like nothing I’ve ever had.”

“I assure you that all things here are like nothing you’ve ever had.” You hum in agreement, taking another eager bite. You cannot imagine anything in the real world tasting this succulent. You almost wonder if perhaps this is all a dream. “You didn’t pray before you began to eat.”

Your chewing pauses. He’s bemused, giving you a sideways grin with his brows raised. You swallow thickly and say, “Praying never got me anywhere until recently. Why did you help me?”

“Because you asked.”

“You didn’t have to, though.”

It isn’t a question. He answers anyway. “I didn’t.”

“So why did you? The other gods have never helped me.”

“The other gods aren’t me.” His voice is soft and lethal, raising the hair on your arms. “We are not all the same, and you’d do well to not make any further comparisons moving forward.” 

You lower your gaze. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Gods are fickle beings. We are quick to offend and slow to let go. You don’t know any better and are thus forgiven.” 

“What do I call you?”

For a moment, he hesitates. You think he isn’t going to answer just as he says, “Yoongi. You can call me Yoongi.”

“Is that your name?” 

“It’s one of them.” 

“How many names do you have?”

He chuckles. It’s a delightful sound and you smile, watching him lean his head back against his chair, looking up as he shrugs. “How much time do you have?”

Time. 

Suddenly, you remember that you aren’t here on this god - Yoongi’s - good graces. You’re here because you called for someone in a moment of need and he agreed to help you, but at a cost. Your time. He had asked for your time, and a sense of anxiety tiptoes its way up your spine as you think about the ambiguity of his deal. 

Swallowing harshly, you shift back in your seat. The food in your stomach feels a little heavy, far too rich for you to eat more than a few bites. You’ve only ever known your parents’ staples of meat, bread, cheese, and root vegetables. 

“When you saved me,” you begin. “You made a deal with me.”

“I did.”

“My freedom in exchange for my time.”

His eyes are glittering as he watches you, completely still. The fireplace next to you crackles. It makes shadows dance across his face, giving him the appearance of something wild and untamed. Your heartbeat quickens as you watch him, this godly being, as he stares you down. 

“That was the deal,” he finally hums. His head cocks to the side a little. “I don’t usually discuss business over dinner.”

“I’m done eating.”

He huffs but doesn’t seem annoyed. “Perhaps tea, then? It will help settle your stomach.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know that my stomach needs settling?” 

“I know a lot of things.” Yoongi rises and gestures to the chairs directly in front of the fireplace. You stand, following his lead. There’s a quiver of energy in the air and you pause, turning to look back at the table to see it’s completely bare, no trace of anything left. You whip around to look at Yoongi as he sits in a wingback chair. “I can do a lot of things.”

A steaming cup of tea sits on a wooden table next to the chair you sink into. The cushions are soft, swallowing you in and making your muscles melt. The cup is warm when you pick it up, steam curling off the surface. Sniffing, your eyes flutter as you inhale the smell of mint. 

“What are you the god of?” You open your eyes and look at him. Both of his feet are planted flat on the floor, his arms resting on the arms of the chair. He looks a little stiff, more so than he did at dinner. Orange firelight reflects in his inky eyes. “You’re a god of the dark.” 

“There’s no such thing,” he scoffs, and you frown. “Your concept of gods is skewed. There is neither good nor evil, light nor dark. There are just gods.” 

“So it doesn’t matter who you pray to?”

“We don’t need your patronage. If we did, we wouldn’t be gods, would we?” You’d never thought of it that way. You sip your tea, letting the warmth and sharp mint bloom in your mouth. “We’re beyond the simple classification that mortals use to understand and organize what they think our intentions are. I have been classed as both good and evil, light and dark, benevolent and malevolent.”

“But surely there are things that are inherently evil, even among the gods.”

“Of course there isn’t. Evil is a point of view. It is a word used to define the feeling one has when the opposite of their desire occurs.” 

“I… guess that makes sense. But isn’t something like murder wrong?”

“Are you not the villain of the duck you ate today?” You blanch. Yoongi looks smug as he gestures vaguely with his hands. “Are you not evil for calling down the wrath of a god on Nathaniel Laudermill?”

“He was going to kill me.”

“You rejected his hand in marriage. You did the opposite of what he desired. I believe in his eyes, you are the evil. Is Death evil for doing what he was made to do?” 

Yoongi’s words make your head spin. You gulp a mouthful of scalding tea before setting it on the table next to you, your mind reeling. The realization that you’re sitting in a library with a starry ceiling arguing over morals and the concept of evil with a god who has saved you from certain death makes you giggle. 

He seems surprised by your sudden outburst, raising his brows as you cover your mouth, your fingers pressed to your lips as you try to contain your sudden mirth. “Sorry. This seems absolutely insane. I’m arguing over the word ‘evil’ with a god in a realm that is everywhere and nowhere at all. It feels like perhaps I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not. Though your dreams are dizzying and far more colorful than anyone else I know. You should be proud of them.” You furrow your brows. How does he know what you dream of? Before you can ask him to clarify, Yoongi says, “You wanted to discuss the deal.”

“Oh. Right. What did you mean by wanting my time in exchange for my freedom?”

“It’s simple. I want you to spend two weeks each month here.” 

Yoongi’s words sink in as you look at the window behind him. Outside, the world is sinking into what you think might be night. The sky is swimming with stars and constellations, stuck in a perpetual twilight of sorts. You’re reminded that somehow, Yoongi is like the moon and the night itself, especially when you find his dark gaze on you as he waits for your response. 

“Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I’m often very alone. It would be nice to have some company.” 

“That’s it? You just want me to hang out in exchange for saving me?” He nods. “That seems too easy.” 

His lips curve upward. “Maybe I’m very annoying.” 

For some reason you think it might not be true. You think of all the things that you’ve heard about the gods. Yoongi tells you that everything you know about them is wrong, but you know that the gods of the dark are tricksters. They are experts in the art of luring mortals in, and you wonder if that’s what he’s doing now. 

“Does it have to be consecutive weeks?” you ask, trying to bide time to collect your thoughts and work out his intentions. “Or can it be a collective?”

“Consecutive.” 

“What… what happens when I go home? With my family.”

Yoongi’s face grows stormy. You shift in your seat. “You’re under my protection,” he says after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll bear a mark that protects you. No one will force their will upon you again.”

“Can you?”

He shakes his head, long hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. He looks haunting in the firelight, but beautiful. You avert your gaze, fixating on the books in the room instead. “You have my word, I will never control you. I promised you freedom, that includes me.” 

“But I have to be here. I can’t escape from that. Is that freedom?”

“You made that decision of your own free will. It’s your words that bind you here, not mine. While you’re here, you are able to do whatever it is you desire. In fact, I encourage it.” 

“Wording is really important to you, isn’t it?”

He chuckles and inclines his head, fingers tapping the arm of his chair. “It is. Consider the first day of your deal already spent. You slept most of it off while you healed.” Yoongi stands, drawing your attention to him. “Sleep more,” he insists gently. “Tomorrow, I’ll give you a tour.”

The thought of a tour - and seeing Yoongi for more days - thrills you. Taehyung appears at the doorway as Yoongi escorts you out. He wishes you goodnight and lets Taehyung take you back to your room, though you feel his gaze and presence as you leave. 

It isn’t until you’re back in your room that you realize you never asked Yoongi how long your deal is supposed to last. It occurs to you that while he has given you a sort of freedom, perhaps he has taken something from you after all. 

-

Tall trees surround you. Above them, you can make out a swirling sky of stars and planets and several moons, so bright that it turns the forest a shade of blue. The woods around you are familiar, and there’s a well-walked path just ahead of you that leads to the river by your home. You’ve walked among these trees and creatures hundreds of times, but never with a sky like this.

Crickets chirp as you walk through the woods now. Grass tickles your bare feet, the earth soft and damp beneath you. It smells like fresh rain, but there’s no flood or mud as you navigate by instinct. 

It’s peaceful out here. How many times have you come here to escape your father’s rage? How many times have you sat, back pressed against a tree, watching the light fade from the world until it was too dark to see where you were going? You always managed to get home safely, even with the lack of light. 

The river rushes a few yards ahead. You pick a spot to sit and watch, beneath the cover of leaves. The sound of running water and the smell of rain on the wind lulls you into a trance and you close your eyes, resting for a while. 

Here is where you find peace. Where you dream. 

Awareness creeps up on you and you open your eyes, looking upward as you sense someone approaching. Yoongi stands next to you, onyx eyes gazing at the river. He’s in black clothes like before, his hands tucked into his pockets. You smell clove and cinnamon, making you dizzy. Power radiates off of him but it feels warm and safe. Like the night air itself comes from his existence. 

“Am I dreaming?” you ask him. He looks down at you, an obsidian strand of hair falling in his face. He nods, giving you a gentle smile. “This is often where I go to dream.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer you. He looks back to the rushing river, his face becoming unreadable. He looks like he’s somewhere far away, lost in his thoughts. Absently, he says, “Your dreams are my favorite.”

“What do you mean?”

“They are bright, full of life and color and sound. You dream the way people create art, the way people create worlds. It is rare to see such magnificence among the sleeping.” 

“I just…” you shrug. “Think of places I would rather be.” 

Yoongi looks at you then and his face is shadowed, full of thunder. “You’ll never be forced to live that life again.” 

“Do you promise?” 

He opens and closes his mouth, narrowing his eyes a little before shaking his head. You feel a smile tug at your mouth, endeared by his microexpressions. “Yes, little lamb. I promise.”

-

You wake with a start, sitting up in bed and looking around. The room spins as your brain tries to catch up with your body, your physical and mental awareness completely out of sync as you swivel your head, drinking in the unfamiliar room and the soft sheets that smell like clove and cinnamon. 

For a moment, you forget where you are, and adrenaline surges through you. Your fingers twist in the sheets as you ground yourself, memories from the day before slotting into place. Letting out a long exhale, you relax, flopping backward in the opulent bed, your heart rate slowing down as your panic bleeds out of you. 

You’re in Yoongi’s home. In a place that is somewhere in between - whatever that means. The god has told you on multiple occasions that you’re safe and have nothing to fear from him and for some reason…. You believe him. Maybe it’s naive, but you can’t erase the feeling that Yoongi is being honest with you, that he has good intentions. 

Perhaps it’ll get you into trouble one day. For now, you cast off doubt and peel yourself out of bed, trailing to the windowed doors that lead to the balcony beyond. You try the handle and are delighted to find them unlocked. Slipping through the doors, you’re met with warm, balmy air. It smells like petrichor, the breeze kissing your skin gently.

Like before, the world seems wrapped in permanent twilight. There is no sun in the sky, but a vast stretch of swimming stars and the largest moon you’ve ever seen. In the distance, dark mountains loom over you, their peaks capped in snow and wreathed in mist. 

Forest stretches out toward them in a vibrant shade of green. There’s a settee on the balcony along with a table and chairs. Leaning on the stone railing, you look down to see colorful gardens and a large pond full of vibrant fish.

All of the radiance makes you smile. You’ve never seen colors so rich, and you’re unable to recall if your world was this vibrant. The garden below is bursting with violet and cerulean, the flowers unfamiliar to you. Their fragrant smell wafts up to the balcony, a hint of sweetness in the air. 

A roll of thunder catches your attention. You look to the east, noticing that one of the mountains in the distance is darker than the others. Lightning crackles in the sky around it and the mist is heavier there. You think the trees are darker too, though you can’t tell if they’re gray or if it’s the shade from the swollen thunderheads drifting over them. 

Behind you, the door to the balcony opens and startles you. Whirling around, you find Taehyung leaning against the frame, mouth curved upwards in a sideways grin. “When you didn’t answer the door I got worried.”

“I thought I was safe here? What is there to be worried about?”

He shrugs. “Maybe you took a dive off of the balcony.”

“What is that place?” you point to the thundering, shrouded mountain. Taehyung looks where you point, his smile dropping as he stares at the looming peak. “By the look on your face, somewhere bad.”

“Bad is a relative term.” 

You scrunch your nose. “You sound like Yoongi.”

“Already familiar, are we? Cute.” He pushes off the door frame and beckons you inside. “Ask Yoongi about it on your tour.”

“Are you not coming along?”

“I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Not give tours.”

If it weren’t for Taehyung’s playful tone and glint in his eye when he casts you a glance, you’d think you were bothering him. Instead of getting angry, he drapes himself on one of the couches by the fireplace, long legs dangling off the arm as he lounges.

Today, he’s in charcoal colored pants and a red, billowing shirt that shows off the smooth, tan skin of his chest. A dangling earring catches your attention as he leans his head back, silky hair shifting. If Yoongi is made of moonlight, you think that Taehyung might be made of sunlight: golden skin, warm energy. 

“By all means,” you mutter. “Hang out.” 

“This is my home first, human. I shall do as I please.”

You make a sound at the back of your throat and roll your eyes, walking toward a large, polished wardrobe made from dark wood. It smells like fresh cedar when you pull on the brass handle, opening the door to reveal tunics and dresses, all hung neatly. 

Rich silks, velvets and cottons greet you. You run your hand over the materials, amazed at how soft they feel. They are far better quality than your mother ever had access to. Your heart squeezes when you think of her, and you shake your head a little as if to physically dispel thoughts of your family out of your mind.

Facing them seems like an impossible task. You know that you’ll have to eventually. Two weeks with Yoongi in this strange world seems like a long time, but you’re not sure if it’s nearly long enough to mentally prepare to go back and face them after what’s happened. Will they still be angry? What will they say? Will they have been worried about you all this time?

There’s no way to know the answer. So instead, you pretend none of that exists. For once, you have stumbled into a dream and adventure like you’ve always wanted, and you intend on playing the part. 

An emerald shirt catches your eye. It’s made of a silky material, supple when you rub the sleeve between your fingers. It’s plain, save for the laced string at the throat to cinch and tie it off. You grab a pair of black, cotton pants as well, the fabric just as soft as the sheets in your bed. 

With Taehyung humming on the couch, you let yourself into the bathroom to change. You appreciate that the floor is warm wherever you go barefoot, and you quickly slide out of your clothes from the previous day and into the new ones. The measurements are a little off, but more than manageable as you pull the tie closed at your throat. Glancing into the mirror, you can’t help but smile a little.

You look so different. The shirt belongs to someone adventurous, you think. Perhaps a pirate or a huntress riding atop her horse through the woods. You slide your fingers along the material, its softness inviting and magical. 

Two weeks. You’ll be here for two weeks with Yoongi, a god who has been alive for hundreds of years, if your conversation from the night before was anything to go off of. It feels surreal and you’re a little nervous, but more than that, you’re excited.

Suddenly, the world is full of possibilities. No marriage to tie you down, no power held in your parents’ hands. 

 “Gods you’re slow to get dressed,” Taehyung announces when you enter the room. He sits up, appraising your outfit. “Green looks good on you.”

“How many are there?” he cocks his head at your question, peeling himself from the seat. “Gods and goddesses, I mean.”

“Pfft. Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?” 

“Maybe thousands, I don’t really know. There’s basically an infinite amount of universes. All anyone mostly cares about are the Eternals, the gods who remain the same no matter what name or history mortals assign to them.”

“Eternals?”

“Mhmm.” Taehyung leads you into the hallway. His hands are tucked into his pockets as he strolls leisurely. You follow beside him eagerly, looking up as he seems thoughtful. “Gods are hard to define. They are great beings with massive power. Some gods do the same thing, some don’t. They come from the infinite amount of worlds to which they are native, and somehow make it into mortal history. But the Eternals have always been here, always known. They do not change.”

“Who are the Eternals?”

“Life, death, chaos, time, pathos, dream and fate.” He makes a face then. “Fate and chaos are hard. They work in direct opposition to one another. It drives time insane, naturally.”

Seven Eternals. It makes sense, from a logical standpoint. Every world must have life and death and the passing of time. Where there exists a living thing, there exists a vessel of emotion and dreams. In all worlds there is the potential for chaos disrupting fate. 

“Yoongi is an Eternal?”

Taehyung glances sidelong at you, smug. “Yes, Yoongi is an Eternal.”

“Why do you look at me like that when I say his name?” Taehyung doesn’t answer, instead smirking as if he’s enjoying a private joke. Your fists close and open as you swallow down a demand to tell you what he finds so amusing. “Which one is he?”

“Have you no guesses?”

That makes you think. Recalling the night before, you remember the way Yoongi looks: dark eyes swimming with something magical, a soft and raspy voice, the way he appeared in your dreams. 

Though your dreams are mesmerizing and far more colorful than anyone else I know. You recall what he said about your dreams, the way he leveled his gaze at you, full of meaning that you didn’t understand. 

“Dreams,” you say, certain that you're right. “He’s the Eternal of Dreams?”

“He isn’t of dreams. He is Dream.”

You’re unable to clarify Taehyung’s emphasis on Yoongi being a deity of dreams as he opens the door to the same library as before. This time, he doesn’t knock. When you step inside, you realize it’s because the room is empty. Yoongi is nowhere to be seen, though pale light filters in through the windows. It’s still forever twilight outside, yet a little lighter. It feels like morning, even if it does not entirely appear to be morning. 

Behind you, the door shuts. You turn to see Taehyung has left without another word, leaving you entirely alone in the captivating space. 

Without hesitation, you walk to the nearest shelf housing rows and rows of books. The spines range from muted browns and neutrals to bright reds and rich blues. Velvet books, leather books, canvas, silk. There is no shortage of materials making up each one, letters painted, printed or stitched down the back of them to denote what they are. 

Each one breathes a world of possibility as you drag your finger along the shape of them. You wonder how many worlds and histories are scribbled away in the pages of this room, the very idea of it overwhelming. 

Trinkets and objects you’re unfamiliar with line the shelves as well. Your fingers trace their shape and you wonder what they are. One object in particular catches your eye in the corner of the room. It stands on three metal legs and has large, interlocking rings that spin lazily in some unknown pattern. The rings are hammered metal and appear to have markings engraved on them.

The device slowly spins of its own accord. Upon inspection, there seems to be nothing else responsible for its motion except magic or science that is beyond you. You can see that there are seven metal rings and different markings on each of them, but you cannot guess what the engravings read. 

“It represents the balance of the Eternals. Taehyung mentioned you had a vague starting point as to what I am.”

Yoongi’s deep voice makes you leap and screech, spinning on your heels to face him. Your hand flies to your chest and you can feel your heartbeat rattling wildly. Yoongi stands a few feet away from you, hands linked behind his back and eyebrows raised at your reaction. 

He’s dressed similar to the night before, though a little more casual. His black pants are tucked into knee high boots, and his black shirt is loose fitted with silver stitching around the collar. You notice that it’s in patterns of stars and moons, furthering your confirmation that Yoongi is associated with dreams in some manner. 

Yoongi’s long hair is pulled half out of his face today, tied away in a bun. The rest of his hair brushes the tops of his shoulders as his inky eyes regard you patiently. His curiosity makes you feel warm all over and you drop your hands to your sides, fingers twitching. 

“How so?” you ask. You turn back to the device. “What does it run on?”

“Our energy. Each ring represents a member of my family. The speed at which they turn represents the balance among us. When the speed is off, the balance is off.”

“What causes the balance to be off?” 

Yoongi steps closer to you. You hold your breath as he does it, but you can feel his presence like a buzzing vibration at the back of your neck.

His voice is softer when he answers, “A number of things. Sometimes some of us aren’t always performing the way we should be. Other times, we’re overperforming. Or fighting, really, as siblings are wont to do.”

“I don’t know what that’s like.”

“You’re not missing much. Especially when your siblings are as ancient and never ending as you are.” 

“How… old are you?”

You look at Yoongi to see he’s standing next to you now. He looks at you, face impassive as he lifts a shoulder. “How old is the earth? How old is existence? It’s hard to say.” 

“Where do you come from?”

“Chaos was first. Life and Death were next, twins born of the sudden whims of Chaos. I was next, for Life often dreamed. Time was always there, though no one knows if Time or Chaos came first. Pathos and Fate came later.”

You nod, though you don’t fully understand the scope of how old and fathomless the existence of things like chaos and time and dreams are. It makes your head spin, trying to conceptualize the thing next to you who looks very much like an ordinary man being something so ancient and primordial that he precedes human existence entirely. 

“You’re overwhelmed,” he notes, a bit of amusement in his voice. “I don’t blame you. The best way to understand it is that I am a living concept that can never be destroyed, so long as there exists something to dream about.” 

Crossing his arms in front of him, Yoongi clasps his hands and gives you a slight smile. He has a pretty smile, you realize. Delicate and almost shy. It makes your heart flutter and you mentally chastise yourself for thinking that a being of eternal dreams can possibly be shy. 

“How about a tour? Our deal is that you’ll spend two weeks a month here. I’d love for you to feel like this is a place you can be familiar with, if not something akin to a home.”

“Home?”

His smile grows. “If that word ever seems fitting, sure.”

Home. The word makes you think about what home means to you and suddenly you feel a pit form in the bottom of your stomach. Flashes of a flooded forest, lighting lancing across the sky, hands gripping you tight and shoving you under the water. 

“Um,” you clear your throat. “So a tour.”

Yoongi’s eyes glitter as he grins and turns, using a hand to gesture to the wide library. “This is the main library, but we’ll end our tour here. Let’s go through the gardens first, it’s nice weather.”

Yoongi starts without you, leaving you to stand staring after him as he goes. His gait is smooth and confident. He presses on a pane of glass that you realize is a door. A breeze teases the loose pieces of his hair, carrying the familiar scent of clove and cinnamon toward you. 

For a moment, you stare after him. Yoongi being a deity of dreams makes so much sense in this moment, stepping into the twilight, face tilted upward slightly as though he’s soaking up the sun. He looks radiant. Tranquil. When he turns to look at you expectantly, his rose pink mouth quirks sideways. 

“Right,” you say, hurrying to follow him. “Outside is where we start.” 

When you pass him, you get the sense that Yoongi wants to tease you further. Instead, he says nothing and leads you into the gardens. A cobblestone path leads from the door through wisteria trees, their amethyst leaves swooping down and filling the air with sweet fragrance. 

Up above, the sky is a mix of blue and purple, thousands of stars twinkling. There is a stone bench near one of the windows of the library, but Yoongi leads you away from the palace and down the path under the trees. The air is crisp and pleasant, cooling your anxious, sweat-slick skin. 

Yoongi links his hands behind his back. “This is the library garden,” he informs you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “It’s mostly wisteria trees, which are my favorite to walk through when I need to think.”

“They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Much different from the woods outside of your home.”

“You know the woods outside of my home?”

“You called me there, remember?” You blanch at the memory, but if he notices, Yoongi says nothing. “Besides, I’m familiar with the woods that surround your home. Your village pays homage to my brother.”

“Your brother?”

He hums. “Life. Perhaps they don’t know that it’s him they pray to, but they do.”

Taking a left, Yoongi leads you on a looping path through the massive wisteria trees. They’re larger than anything you’ve ever seen, their bows sweeping monoliths of purple, trunks thick as boulders. A strange creature sits on the branches of one of the trees, making you stop and stare. 

A tiny, carnelian creature sits on a bough, bright against the lavender background of the leaves. It has four legs and scaled feet, sharp talons cutting into the bark as it keeps its balance in the tree. Small wings are folded on its back, bony limbs with paper-thin skin between them, a lighter red than the rest of its body. A long tail snakes around the branch, holding the creature in place as its long neck extends, head tilting to look at you curiously.

“Is that a dragon?” you whisper, staring at it.

You’ve only heard them described in stories, but you don’t really know what they look like. It has scales like a lizard and it blinks two large eyes at you, entirely black. There are small horns on its head, and a forked tongue snakes out as it tastes the air. 

“She’s a fey dragon,” Yoongi hums, looking up at the creature with a smile. “And she’s not supposed to be in the trees here, are you?”

A puff of smoke curls from the dragon’s nose as it huffs, making you take a step backward. Yoongi lets out a deep laugh that makes a tingle rattle down your spine and your toes curl. The sound is like smoke and velvet, heady in the air. 

“She won’t hurt you,” Yoongi assures, shaking his head to continue walking under the dragon’s branch. “She’s a pesky little thing, but she is incredibly sweet. Fey dragons are much smaller than their firedrake cousins and less dangerous than their basilisk relatives.”

With your eyes cast upward, you hurry after Yoongi, keeping your gaze on the large lizard as you run under the branch. Her dark eyes follow you, unblinking and fathomless. The hair on your arms stands up and you can’t help but feel that despite the dragon being small and what Yoongi calls harmless, it is incredibly intelligent. 

“There are dragons here?” 

“There is everything here.”

You frown, finally turning away from the dragon as you leave it behind. “That’s confusing. Everything as in…?”

“When you dream, you have limitless potential. You can go anywhere, be anything, see any creature. Dreams even invent things that do not exist in the natural world. Creatures, stories, songs, words, plants. The possibility for creation in a dream is limitless, and this place is the essence of dreams. It is me.”

“So you are this place and the place is you?”

He seems thoughtful before nodding. “More or less. This is a dream realm as much as it is a collection of ideas, thoughts and hopes. Everything that every living creature has ever dreamed about walks these lands.”

“Even nightmares?”

Yoongi pulls up short and whips his head at you. You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to meet his eyes under his severe expression. In the distance, you swear you hear thunder. An apology springs to your lips, but before you can give it, Yoongi nods sharply once and begins walking again.

“Nightmares too. Do not speak of nightmares here, lest they come searching.”

You think about Taehyung telling you that you were safe but being concerned when you didn’t answer the door earlier that morning. A chill seeps into your bones as you rejoin Yoongi on your walk, his pace not as relaxed now. 

“They come searching?” you try, a little curious, a little afraid. 

“Yes. They are different from dreams. Unpredictable in a way I admire and dislike.” He glances sidelong at you. “They have a mind of their own. You are safe with me always, but it’s best practice to not think of them while you’re here. This world has a way of manifesting.”

For a few moments, you walk in silence. You let your questions fall silent as you look around. The two of you exit the wisteria trees to see a large pond. A single, massive wisteria sits on its western edge with a bench underneath it. 

The surface of the pond is dark and smooth, reflecting the swirling stars in the sky. Yoongi leads you around the mirror surface and points out the mountains in the distance that you could see from your windows. 

“Mountains of Sleep,” he tells you. “It is where all beings who are ready for their eternal rest come to dream for the remainder of their existence. They are also called the Mountains of Divinity, for there are hundreds of divine immortals among their peaks.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Not all beings rest here. Some prefer their own planes and resting grounds. But this existed before those places, and has long been used for the tired and the weary who are ready to retire.”

“Are they dead?”

“No. The dead cannot come here.” He hesitates. “When they do, it is because they are not a dream.”

You get the sense that Yoongi is talking about nightmares again and you shiver as he takes you around the pond. “Don’t let anything in that body of water convince you to go swimming. They won’t intentionally hurt you but they don’t understand the concept of human life.”

“They?”

“They don’t have a name. They are water-folk who were dreamt up by someone once. I admire them and they’re beautiful and wicked smart, but they’re a bit cheeky.”

“I’m starting not to feel as safe as you said I was.”

Yoongi stops and frowns. He lifts a hand as though he’s about to touch your arm before he thinks better of it and drops it at his side. You realize you’re disappointed that he did before mentally kicking yourself, feeling a little ashamed to be so affected by a god. You’re sure Yoongi gets it often, but it makes you feel silly nonetheless. 

“You are safe.” He lowers his head a little, catching your gaze. Though his eyes are midnight black, you swear you see the stars above reflected in their dark pools. “But there are rules everywhere. This place has them just the same as your home did. You were relatively safe there, but there were rules.”

“And then I broke them and Nathaniel tried to murder me.”

“Nathaniel was dealt with and will never touch you again.” Thunder rolls in the distance and your heart flutters at the vehemence with which Yoongi says this. “The misdeeds of your family cannot chase you here.”

You don’t press Yoongi on the matter. Instead, you let him proceed with the tour, keeping your questions to a minimum as you wonder what Yoongi meant by Nathaniel being dealt with. You recall the soft, susurrated voice against your ear when Yoongi found you. The gentle brush of something like a kiss to your neck. The rage and power as he stepped in front of you to face Nathaniel when the deal was done.

It does not require much to make an assumption about Yoongi’s meaning. 

The yards of his palace are sprawling and full of color. Gardens with flowers he doesn’t know the name of but said a little girl had dreamed them and he liked them so he made more. Butterflies with colors you didn’t know existed flitting from plant to plant. Fruit orchards with the ripest, reddest apples you’ve ever seen. 

And the palace. It is the only word you have for it. The building is several stories tall, hewn from dark stone with at least five different towers. Starlight glitters in the windows as Yoongi guides you up the stairs toward the massive double doors that lead to the main entrance of the castle. On the door handle are two wrought-iron griffons with proud faces. 

Without a touch, the doors open on Yoongi’s arrival. You wonder if the building responds to his presence as the door swings open for the two of you. Inside, the foyer is as magnificent as the library, a lush purple carpet rolling over stone floors. 

In the center of the room is a massive spiral staircase. Looking up, you see that it goes all the way up the floors of the palace, dizzying circles of floor after floor. Yoongi explains there are other ways to go all the way up to the top throughout the castle but this is the easiest way, though he assures you that by the third floor you’d be out of breath. 

Each room Yoongi shows you is opulent and warm. Rich, deep wooden furniture, paintings with dark splashes of amethyst, scarlet and gold. Rooms for tea, rooms for painting, rooms for music, rooms for dancing. Yoongi has a room for everything, sometimes occupied by strange little creatures that hide when you walk in or curious things that lift their heads when they see him. 

No one else besides Taehyung seems to be there, though. You come across felines, little balls of light that bounce around Yoongi excitedly and light him up like a burst of flame, a little furry thing that you think is a fox but in a shade of shocking sapphire, and a massive wolf with eyes like ice that blink apathetically at you as you walk by. But never once do you see another person. Even Taehyung seems to be amiss. 

“Does no one else live here?” Yoongi takes you through another room empty of people and things. “It’s so empty.” 

He takes his time to answer as you leave the room and move into the hallway. It’s hard to tell which way you’re going, but you think that you’re headed toward the library again. Your legs ache from going up and down the stairs on an endless tour of rooms, and you’re eager to be in the library once more. 

“There used to be,” Yoongi says slowly. “But people don’t tend to do well in places that they don’t belong.”

“So you’re all alone here?”

His smile is sad. “I have Taehyung.” He pauses before he adds, “And now you.”

I’m often very alone. It would be nice to have some company. You think of Yoongi’s words from the night before and suddenly you’re filled with sadness. Sadness for this ancient being, who seems so gentle and quiet. Who lives alone in this giant castle with all of the world’s dreams around him and no one to share them with. 

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “How do you know I belong?”

“Pardon?”

“Do I? Belong, I mean. You wouldn’t… have me here if I wouldn’t do well, right?”

“No one dreams the way you do.” He says this firmly. Confident. Fierce. “I believe there is nothing you wouldn’t be able to find here.”

“Do you always know what I dream about?” 

“No. But you dream… loudly. Colorfully. Sometimes it’s hard to ignore. I don’t like to pry, though.” 

“Can you see everyone’s dreams?”

“Mhmm. I even make some.”

This catches your attention and you reach out and grab his wrist, stopping him. He glances down where your fingers touch his skin, your fingers buzzing where you’re connected. You flush with warmth and drop your hand, clearing your throat at how forward grabbing him was. 

Yoongi is smirking when you ask, “Can you show me?”

“One day, yes. For now, the end of the tour and lunch.”

At the mention of lunch, your stomach rumbles. His grin spreads into a full smile and Yoongi leads you back to the library. Again, the doors open without his touch and as you pass them, you study them for any sign of an auto-opening mechanism but find none. 

Yoongi’s magic appears limitless. You remember the food disappearing from dinner, the swell of power as Yoongi agreed to save you, and his sudden appearance as you were drowning. You know nothing about the god of dreams or what he’s capable of, but you’re awed at how easy it comes to him. 

“This is the main library.” Yoongi turns around to face you, sweeping his arms out on either side of him. “There are two others: one in my room and one located in the dream tower.”

“You didn’t show me the dream tower.”

“I’ll show you when you’re ready.” 

Unsure what ready means to Yoongi, you look around the library. Same as the night before, the shelves are crammed full of books and scrolls, so much paper and ink that it makes you lightheaded with excitement. It still smells of lemon and wax, though as you pass Yoongi to go to a shelf, you’re overcome with clove and cinnamon again. 

Trying to ignore the shiver that merely walking by Yoongi gives you, you brush the spines of books once again, feeling their potential under your fingertips. 

“You always have access to this library. You can read what you like.”

A pang goes through you and you drop your hand. Without looking at him, you mumble, “Thank you, but I can’t read.”

No response comes. You stare unseeing at the books before taking a breath to turn your head and steal a glance at Yoongi. You expect some sort of amusement or perhaps pity, but his face is unreadable, jaw working.

“That’s okay,” he finally says. “We will teach you. After lunch we will make a schedule to help fill your time here. Reading and writing lessons will be a part of that.”

Your heartbeat quickens. “Do you mean that?”

“Do you want to learn?” You nod your head eagerly. He grins gently. “Then we will teach you.” 

-

Yoongi’s eyes are dark as he presses forward. Your breath catches in your chest as you lay back, looking up at him with your lips parted, heart hammering in your chest. He settles his waist against you, the weight of him pressing you into your bed as you lay back. 

He is so beautiful that it puts you in a daze, staring up into his face as he leans over you. His hair is pulled back, but a few dark strands hang loose. His mouth is stained red with wine, making you want to lean forward and taste his lips and feel their softness. 

Tentatively, you reach a hand up and brush the loose strands of hair out of his face, tucking them behind his ear. You don’t stop touching him, though, hand cradling his flushed face. His eyes flutter shut and he leans into your palm as you cup his cheek, thumb sweeping back and forth. 

“Is this what you dream of?” he whispers, eyes remaining closed. “Being under me, like this?”

Dreaming. You realize you’re dreaming. You jolt and suddenly, you’re alone. 

-

“Your handwriting is terrible,” Taehyung admits, looming over your shoulder. You grip the quill tighter, nearly snapping it in two. “But you learn unbelievably fast. How many of these letters do you think you have consistently memorized?” 

Taehyung is in charge of your writing lessons today and you already want to kill him. It’s been five days of your new residency in the House of Dreams, as Yoongi calls it, and you’ve quickly learned that Taehyung is equally charming and playful as he is outright vexing. 

Instead of turning to give him a very harsh poke in the arm with your quill, you scan the shapes in front of you. There are twenty-six of them, all awkwardly slanted and misshapen where you’ve used too much ink or not enough. Using a quill and ink feels alien to your hand and your fingers struggle to remember the proper way to hold it as you draw your letters. 

“I think most of them,” you answer slowly, mentally sounding out each word on the page in your head as you go. “But there are a few of them that confuse me. The lowercase ‘d’ and ‘b’ I find nearly impossible to recall and ‘v’ and ‘u’ are rather frustrating.” 

“Whenever you see a ‘u’, think of it as having a scoop. Sc-uuup.” Taehyung points to a ‘u’ on the page and mimics the scooping motion. “Might be easier to associate the sound scoop with ‘u’ even though the word itself doesn’t have a ‘u’.” 

The desperate look you give him makes him laugh as you struggle to imagine why a word with a ‘u’ sound doesn’t actually contain the letters. You’re saved from Taehyung’s maddening - but helpful - instruction as Yoongi walks into the library. 

“You’d better not be laughing at her again.” 

Taehyung steps away from you and bows his head toward Yoongi. “I’m laughing with her. We’re just sharing amusement over the hypocrisy of letters.”  

“Yeah,” you deadpan. “It’s hilarious.”

Today, Yoongi is in a deep, amethyst colored shirt. It’s laced at the throat with the familiar moon and stars that he has stitched on much of his clothing, and his hair down and long, slicked back and tucked behind his ears. As always, he’s in dark pants and boots today, the sound of them clicking on the stone floor as he nudges Taehyung out of the way to peer over your shoulder. 

You tense. Being around Yoongi for the last five days has been intoxicating. It is bad enough that you get distracted during your lessons by the way his voice rumbles when he speaks and the way he chews his lips when working on his own things while you study. It’s worse that now he invades your dreams, whispering in your ear and hands wandering over your curves, sinful mouth brushing over your skin and leaving you to jolt awake in bed covered in sweat.

The very idea that Yoongi knows what you're dreaming of drives you to the edge of insanity. He’d promised he preferred to avoid your dreams, but you wonder if he knows. Knows that you have developed an insatiable habit of fantasizing about his hands, or about the tone of his voice. 

Gripping your quill tight, you hold your breath when he leans over you. He’s not touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel the heat of him and smell him, cinnamon and clove making your eyes flutter. If you didn’t know he was the god of dreams, you’d mistake him for the god of lust, if that was a thing.

“Why aren’t you breathing?” You peer upward to see Yoongi looking down at you. If you tilted your head back just a fraction more, you’d be pressed against his chest. Even from upside down, his moon-pale face and cosmos eyes make you want to scream. “Are you alright?”

“Nervous that I’m not performing well.”

His face softens. “You’re a quick learner. Don’t worry about progress and pace.”

“But what if I lose it when I go h- back.” 

Home. That’s what you were going to say. But the idea of home is terrifying. You don’t know what waits for you when you go back. You don’t know what splitting time between two worlds means. You don’t know what you’ll do when you have to spend two weeks there before coming back to Yoongi. 

Five days in Yoongi’s realm has been enough to make you feel like this has always been your life. You fit into the daily routines of Yoongi and Taehyung better than you imagined, and though you still sometimes get lost in the House of Dreams, you discover that you’re adapting. 

There’s always something new to discover, an adventure around the corner. You like learning your letters and the sounds that they make. You love studying the maps in the library and tracing the distances between countries you can’t name and have no idea where they are. 

Most of all, you love exploring. Rooms upon rooms of objects both normal and magical. Creatures that roam freely around the palace - including a clever little fox that has taken interest in following you around as you take breaks from studying by walking around the grounds. 

While Yoongi’s home doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, you’re more afraid to go back to your mother and father than you are to go near the pond at the edge of the wisteria garden. 

So you avoid thinking of going back.

“You’ll practice while you’re there,” Yoongi says, as though it’s the easiest answer in the world. “You have to practice every day.”

“My father won’t- he doesn’t…” You shake your head, unable to get the words out. That your father would strike you to the ground if he found you with books again. “I can’t bring anything back with me.”

“Sure you can.” You glance at him to find his expression is firm. “I told you, you’re under my protection. Things will be very different for you when you go back.”

“How?”

“It’s… difficult to say.” 

Yoongi offers nothing else. You become hyper aware of how close he’s standing to you again and you look down at your letter practicing. With a shaky hand, you dip the quill into the ink, lifting it from the inkwell and letting the excess drip before bringing it over to the paper. 

When Yoongi makes no move to leave, you inhale deeply to steel your nerves and continue tracing. He’s content to watch you as you work. If he knows how distracted this makes you, he doesn’t let on. Perhaps he has no idea that as you scrawl a shaky letter ‘k’, it’s Yoongi who consumes your thoughts. 

Even in your waking hours it seems you’re not rid of him. 

Most of your study sessions are like this, Yoongi watching you so closely that it makes your quill bleed too much ink. He is a passive teacher, letting you come to him with questions instead of correcting you constantly like Taehyung does. Even now, when you hesitate on the next letter of the alphabet, Yoongi doesn’t offer his help. Lets you figure it out. 

You dip the quill in ink and continue. 

After you finish the last shaky letter, you set the quill down, flexing your fingers open and closed. Yoongi makes a satisfied noise and steps away. You turn to see him walking toward the table by the fireplace, which is where you have started to take all your meals. Already, there are platters of food and drinks. Taehyung sits in a chair, plucking a grape from a plate and popping it in his mouth.

“I didn’t invite you,” Yoongi grumbles as he takes a seat at the head of the table. You push yourself up from your chair, legs aching from sitting so long. “Who said you can eat my grapes?”

“Ugh, I’m tired of eating alone.” 

“Let him stay, Yoongi.” The god looks at you with a glower, bottom lip jutted out slightly. It’s so cute that you can’t help but burst into laughter, hand flying to your mouth. “Sorry, I think you just pouted.” 

“He did.” Taehyung grins and leans back in his chair. “He wants you to himself.”

Yoongi hisses Taehyung’s name, shutting down the teasing immediately. You glance at Yoongi shyly as you sit down but he doesn’t meet your eyes, choosing to laden his plate with food instead. You can’t imagine why Yoongi would want you to himself, especially when all you do is ply him with questions. 

Still, a little bit of a thrill goes through you as you start loading your plate, your gaze drifting toward the deity again as he bites into a strawberry, the juice running down his chin. Your eyes track the movement as his tongue darts out, catching the drip before it escapes too far. 

Yoongi’s mouth is hypnotizing and it takes you a moment too long to realize he’s watching you stare at him. Quickly, you grab a cup and bring water to your lips, gulping the cool water and glancing up at the ceiling, feeling embarrassment bloom like warm liquid through you. 

When you put the cup down, you swear you see Yoongi smiling. 

-

Hungry lips suck at the tender flesh of your neck. You gasp, feeling your toes curl in pleasure, head spinning. Yoongi’s teeth scrape against the sensitive skin, the drag of his rough tongue soothing over the bites driving you mad. You let out a soft moan, eyes squeezing shut as you writhe under him. 

Yoongi’s large hands pin yours above your head, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he continues to ravish your neck with his hot mouth, tongue and teeth. His hips roll over you and you whine, feeling his hard-on pressing against you. 

Your parents would kill you if they knew you were here like this, trapped under a god of the dark as he sucks on your pulse point, mouth moving upward to nip your ear. Your chest is heaving and you can’t get enough breath, overwhelmed by the scent of cinnamon and clove, by the way his mouth pulls sounds from you so easily. 

Yoongi tears his lips away and looks down at you, eyes so dark and blown out that you think he might devour you, swallow you whole in one bite - 

“You’re dreaming of me again,” he whispers. “I don’t know if you mean to be dreaming of me, like this.” 

You startle, realizing this isn’t real, and the illusion fades. 

-

Twilight skies stretch above you. It’s warm outside, but the night air is cool against your skin, making you shiver as you sit down, folding your legs criss-cross. 

“Are you cold?” Yoongi asks, sitting down on the soft grass next to you. You shake your head, eyes fixed on the low table in front of you that's filled with platters of meats, cheeses and crackers. You eye a glass bottle of red liquid that you think is wine, mouth watering. “Are you sure?”

“Promise, the wind feels nice.” 

He looks doubtful as he sits down next to you, a healthy amount of space between you. 

Tonight, Yoongi has insisted on a late night snack outside under the stars. He seems eager, verging on giddy as he glances up at the sky before reaching for the bottle of red liquid and popping the cork. 

After nearly two weeks in the House of Dreams, you’ve learned that this world is forever twilight, lit up by dreams. Here, day and night don’t exist in their truest forms. There are always millions of people and creatures dreaming at every moment of existence, not limiting Yoongi’s world and power to times of day and night. 

The twilight is beautiful. You’ve grown accustomed to the purple tint to the world, the way that it gets just the barest bit darker outside during certain periods, as though even in a world where night and day don’t exist, there are still two separate halves of time. 

Yoongi passes you a glass. You bring it to your nose and sniff, delighted at the scent of cherries and something else. It’s certainly wine, though you wait for him to pour himself a glass to sip any. 

Earrings dangle in Yoongi’s ears tonight. Each lobe has a small, thin chain with a moon charm on the end that’s studded with sapphires, catching the moonlight as he sets down the bottle and sits back. His hair is pulled half-up, half-down again, leaving his full face in view as he looks at you and gives you a gummy grin that scatters your thoughts. 

“Chaos is moving through the sky tonight,” Yoongi informs you, glancing upward. “When she does, she’s beautiful to see. She doesn’t do it that often, but she’s passing us by on her way to do whatever it is she does somewhere. I wanted you to see.” 

He holds out his drink and you grip yours tight, raising your glass to clink with his like you’ve seen people do at the inn in your village. He turns away from you, bringing his wine to his lips to sip. You follow suit, tentatively tilting your glass.

Sweet cherries bloom on your tongue and you hum in delight. It isn’t just cherries you taste, though. There’s a lush sweetness too, edged with spice, filling your mouth with warmth. You look at Yoongi as you sip and see him watching with a closed-lipped smile, eyes searching your face.

“You like it?” 

You nod and set the glass down. “It’s delicious.” 

“You like sweet things.” 

“And you like salty.” He raises a brow in question. “You’re always going for the salted meats at dinner. And you have salted pork right there,” you point to the meat and cheeseboards. “Do gods get dehydrated?”

“We do not. I didn’t realize you were paying so much attention.” You shrug, picking up your wine to take small sips again. “Anything else you’ve noticed?” 

Everything, you want to say and don’t. You’ve noticed so many things about Yoongi, all of them coming to mind at once. But you don’t want to reveal just how much you’ve watched him over the last two weeks, paying far more attention than is proper. 

You could tell Yoongi how you’ve noticed that he wears seven necklaces exactly, each with a different symbol charm on them that you think corresponds to the seven Eternals. You could tell him that he has the habit of closing his eyes and tilting his face upward, like he’s absorbing moonlight. You know all of his favorite breakfast items, specifically crispy bacon and sugared strawberries. 

And there are other things you could tell him, like in your dreams his lips are soft as sin, his voice low and sultry. You could admit that most nights you feel his grip on your waist and that when you study his hands during your lessons, you can’t help but already know the shape of them. 

Perhaps two weeks back in your village is exactly what you need to get the ridiculous fantasy of this eternal being from your head. You don’t think you could bear the shame of him knowing exactly what living in the in-between realm has done for your imagination in a very unexpected way. 

“You like bacon,” you offer as an answer. “And sugared strawberries. In the evening, whiskey is your favorite. It smells a little bit like honey, but still spicy. And you must work in the dream tower often at night, because the door to the tower smells like clove and cinnamon and you always smell that way.”

Yoongi’s brows shoot up. You hide your expression with your glass of wine, taking a long draught. It hums in your veins, warm and rushing like nothing you’ve ever felt before. When you lower the glass, Yoongi watches you with an intense expression. You meet his gaze, suddenly unable to look away. 

The air feels charged as you stare. His eyes dip down to your mouth a single time, then back up to your eyes. The breeze moves strands of his hair and you smell the hint of clove followed by cinnamon, just as you always do when he’s near. Your heart starts to staccato as the silence presses on. 

A little shriek cuts through the tension like a knife. You flinch and turn around, looking at a red blur of movement burst from the wisteria trees. Tiera lands with a squawk, the fey dragon huffing as grey smoke curls from her lungs. She ignores you entirely as she normally does and skips over to where Yoongi is sitting before she settles next to him, curling like a cat and laying on her tail.

Yoongi laughs. “Hello, Tiera.” The dragon chuffs and lets out another puff of smoke. “Are you not going to say hello to our friend?” 

When the dragon pays no attention to you, you roll your eyes. “She hates me.”

“Dragons are capricious. She’s been with me for over a hundred years.”

“Not very mature then, is she?”

He chuckles again as you pluck cheese from the platter and pop it into your mouth. You’re delighted to find it’s soft and garlicky with a hint of rosemary as well. “She is still a child in dragon years.” 

“And you let her be a glutton.” 

“You could be too.” Your chewing slows and you swallow the cheese hard. You wait to see if he’s teasing you, but Yoongi watches you with a placid expression. “Dreams and desires are intertwined, you know. Desires come from dreams. It is in my nature to be indulgent.” 

“I’ve never really been indulgent in my life.”

“Do you want to be?”

“What?”

His mouth twitches. “Indulgent.”

“I think this is indulgent,” you gesture to the food. “And you’re teaching me to read and write. That is more indulgence than I could ever dream of.”

He hums and it sounds like disapproval. “I think your dreams are far more indulgent than that.” 

He knows. You think he’s going to say something, to ask about the way you dream of him. Instead, he says, “When you return, we’ll work on your indulgence. There is no shame in wanting things, you know?” 

“I don’t know. How could I?”

Light flashes above your head. You break eye contact with him to look up and gasp. The sky is full of shooting stars, hundreds of them, maybe thousands. The world lights up as you see rainbows streaking across the sky, bursts of colors and explosions of brilliance shooting through the sky. 

Your mouth hangs open as you watch, mystified into silence. You’re sure this is what Yoongi meant when he said Chaos was passing by, for the sky becomes a cacophony of color and stars and light. You blink your eyes, stunned by the display. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, your heart hammering with excitement as you watch it, legs crossed, head tilted up.

The stars begin to slow and there are less bursts of color, until finally, there is just a shimmering wake of stardust and pink simmering in the sky. You look at Yoongi, utterly speechless, to find him looking at you. His eyes reflect the night sky, full of constellations and stardust, glittering in the dark depths of his irises. 

Yoongi’s eyes are as wonderful as the display above, but you don’t say that. 

“That was beautiful,” you breathe. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes don’t leave you when he hums softly in agreement. “It was.” 

Tiera shuffles next to Yoongi, drawing your attention. She snakes her long neck out, tongue tasting the air as she eyes the meat on the table. Yoongi hisses at her and taps her nose in chastisement, earning an angry croak as the dragon shuffles back to her napping position. 

The rest of your evening is spent snacking in companionable silence. Yoongi doesn’t talk much unless he’s answering your hundreds of questions, but tonight, you have none. You’re comfortable to just look at the world around you, the wisteria branches dancing in the breeze. 

In the distance, you hear thunder. Your eyes follow the sound to the same dark peak with lightning crackling through the mist. You’ve yet to ask Yoongi about that peak in particular, but you think you know what looms there. You remember Yoongi talking about how there are nightmares in this realm too, and you’re not eager to ask what that thunderous mountain holds. 

Yoongi doesn’t divulge, either. He watches you as you regard the peak and says nothing. Perhaps even the Eternal of dreams is hesitant to speak of that place, which is a good enough reason for you not to press him further on it. 

When your stomach is full and you’ve had another glass of wine, you lay back in the grass. Your limbs feel heavy with drink and your world is tilted on a slow-rotating axis. The buzz in your veins feels pleasant, though your thoughts are a little sticky like honey and they run together, untamed. 

Careful to keep his distance, Yoongi lays back in the grass with you. His face looks up at the sky, but you look at him. His features are so delicate and soft, nose and cheeks so round. His face don’t make sense in your head, so severe and terrifying yet gentle and innocent at the same time. 

“You’re staring,” he says eventually. 

“I’m indulging,” you tease back, loosened up by wine. “You said I can indulge, so let me stare.”

“What is there to indulge in?” 

“Your… earrings.” 

That makes him look at you, a brow quirked. “My earrings.”

“Yes. Very shiny. Very dangly.”

“Shiny and dangly?”

“Is there an echo out here?” you demand, frowning at him. “Yes, I am indulging in your jewelry!” 

“Would you like some earrings?”

“My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Well then we’ll pierce them.”

“Well,” you grump. “Don’t you have the answer for everything?”

He smiles then, that rare gummy smile that makes you shut right up. “I told you. I’m indulgent. Anything you want, all you need is to ask.” 

Rolling your eyes, you bite your lip to hide your smile at his words. It is insane to you that this ancient being is laying in the grass next to you telling you to only ask what you want. You don’t know what you want, but you do know that this feels like a dream. That you’re not really here, and that you’re going to wake up tomorrow and be in your bed at home. 

Dread fills you at the thought of going back to your parents. In a way, you want to see them. They’re your parents and there is… unfamiliarity without the sound of your mothers needle stitching through cloth. You could do without your father entirely. The rage inside of you when you picture his face is difficult to quell and is often followed by terror. 

Yoongi has told you that you will be safe when you return. You believe him. There is no reason not to. But more than anything, you’re terrified about what comes next. Living between two worlds is something you remember dreaming about that one day in the forest, looking at the way the world was reflected back on the mirror-calm surface of the water. 

Now that you have access to two worlds, you don’t know what to do with the other that has brought you nothing but suffering. And yet, you still want to see what is there. You’re not ready to leave it entirely without knowing. 

“Are you afraid to go back?” 

Yoongi’s question is soft. You don’t hesitate to answer, “Yes.” 

“You won’t be alone. All you have to do is dream of me, and I will come.”

You hesitate then ask, “Do you know any time someone dreams of you?”

“It’s like hearing someone call my name, but I never answer. My business is in creating dreams, not invading them. People like you are able to spin up dreams on your own without my assistance. I help those who cannot.” 

“That sounds like a lovely job.”

He hums. “It’s not without its stresses. I talk a lot about the nature of dreams, but there is more to me and to my job than that. Perhaps we will leave that for your next visit, yes?”

You nod. “Okay.” 

“Come on,” Yoongi sighs, heaving himself upward. “It is late and in the morning, you must return.” 

-

“Touch me,” you beg him, straddling Yoongi’s lap. His head rests against the back of the couch and he looks up at you as you run your fingers through his hair. It’s softer than you imagined, sliding like silk between your fingers. “You told me to ask for what I wanted. Touch me.”

“Anything,” Yoongi agrees. His hands skim up your thighs, warm and rough. He squeezes your flesh, making you moan as his hands continue their worship. Yoongi grips your hips tightly, kneading your flesh as he pulls you closer to him. “Anything. Everything. For you.”

-

When you wake up, you’re confused. The roof above your head is wood and thatch. The mattress beneath you is thin and lumpy, sweat sticking the sheets to your legs. Rolling over, your vision blurs until it comes into focus once more, revealing a tiny room with just a bed, a wardrobe and a closed door. 

Your  room. Well, your room in your parents’ house, you realize with a panic. 

You shoot up in bed as terror claws at you. Did you dream it all? Was it not real? Nothing in your room has changed and the windows are open to the cool air. Grey clouds drift in the sky and you can smell the petrichor of oncoming rain in the distance. 

Rushing to your bedroom door, you rip it open, your heart threatening to burst with how hard it’s beating. You don’t know what you’re looking for or what you expect to find, but the idea that you have just woken up from the most vivid, wonderful dream is so maddening that you need anything to tell you it was real. That it wasn’t in your head.

Your mother is sitting at the kitchen table stitching. She looks up when she hears you. She looks different, leaner and narrower than you ever remember, her greasy hair tied low at her neck. Her hands pause their stitching as she stares at you, stricken. 

“What day is it?” you ask her. The day you had been attacked had been a seventh day. You remember that clearly. “Tell me what day it is!”

Instead, your mother screams in sheer terror. 

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[chil-aglia]

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 |ROTTMNT| (Leo X Male OC)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭

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Swift and quiet, the motto of a ninja. Blend in with the crowds, don’t be discovered. Adriaen kept these in mind, but Donnie on the other end was the opposite, sure he wore his purple hoodie to blend in with the humans, but he was also making a scene, creepily watching the humans before zipping on over to the next crowd he sees.

Adriaen groans, shaking his head lightly as he observed the building. April’s school.

Without drawing much attention to himself, he followed after Donatello, who snuck his way into the building as well, laughing to himself mirthfully, he always did dream of going to a normal high school.

”Donnie, can you stop and just act normal?” Adriaen hissed at him in a hushed whisper, managing to grab him by the sleeve and pull him back as he almost crashed into a group of jocks. ”I am being normal! See, totally normal.” He proudly claims, moving around and checking over people's shoulders to stare at their phones, obviously earning some wary gazes towards him.

”Oh for the love of…!” Adriaen grumbled, grabbing Donnie once more and leading him to the computer lab room. He knew that’s where April had to be, considering she told everyone her schedule in the group chat. Donnie climbed up to the ceilings, using the lights to climb around as Adriaen just walked in. The teacher was sleeping in his chair, and the students were all preoccupied by their work to notice someone else entering the room.

Adriaen spots April who stared at her computer in both boredom and concentration. Adriaen gazed up to see Donnie quickly throwing three ninja stars, all three striking at the desk with each word saying, "I'm here!".

“Psst April."

April looked up in bewilderment before she widens her eyes when Donnie slipped off the ceiling lights and falls down, but he managed to land into one of the chairs. Adriaen quickly made his way over, “Sorry, Donnie here got too excited.” He apologised, giving the purple masked turtle a scolding look. April smiled at the two, gesturing for Adriaen to take a seat, but he shook his head gently, preferring to stand as he leaned against the desk.

“Hi guys. Thanks for coming." April whispered lightly, the last part more directed to Donnie, “No probbles. I love this place.” He grins before spinning around and standing up to observe the other students, taking a whiff of the air.

”Smells like learning and puberty. So, what do you need help with?” 

He sits back down on the chair and eyed April who was putting some sort of coding into the computer, “My computer science project. Just need you to check the code to make sure I haven’t missed anything." She informs, moving out the way as Donatello got in front of the computer and started typing.

April turned her gaze to Adriaen, confused. “Why are you here Adriaen? Not that I’m complaining. But I didn’t know you were a computer nerd.” She muses lightly at the last part of her sentence. Adriaen stuffed his hands into his pockets on his black hoodie.

”Raph didn’t trust Donnie on going alone to a human school, so he asked me to come with and keep an eye on him.”

”Which is completely unreasonable. I don’t need a babysitter.” Donnie huffed, puffing his chest out confidently, Adriaen crossed his arms and eyed the mutant turtle.

”You almost collided with a bunch of jocks earlier. Had to be dragged away from peeking over the shoulders of other students and fell down from the ceiling.”

”All true, but I was fine and nothing bad happened.”

Yeah, cause I was there to prevent anything from happening. Well except the last part, but the teacher is a deep sleeper apparently and the students are all occupied with their own work.

Donnie exhaled and turned to April briefly, "You don’t know how lucky you are to be in school, April. Surrounded by true intellectuals. Scholars after my own heart, resplendent in gorgeous purple satin jackets—Wait! What?!" Donnie began to list off the good qualities of school before getting distracted by purple jackets.

Adriaen blinked and looked over to see an area in the classroom that had a sign that read ‘Dragons Only’. Two other students were hung up by their underwear on the cardboard box pillars.

What the...?

“Purple satin jackets? The shimmering sheen, the exquisite violet hue, the silkiness of the fabric! It has everything I love, and even things I didn’t know I loved yet—“

Adriaen lightly flicked Donnie in the back of his head, snapping him out of his trance as he drooled a bit. “Donnie, if you drool in here, something’s gonna short circuit." April advised with Adriaen nodding in agreement with her.

”That and you look like a weirdo if you’re drooling over a couple of jackets.”

Donnie shakes his head to focus back on the present, "They must be the kings and queens of high school." He smiles eagerly at the three students who seemed to be running some sort of VR experiment. “The Purple Dragons Tech Club? Yeah, if by kings and queens you mean stuck up jerks, who think they’re smarter than everyone else." April rolls her eyes at the group, “There’s a group like that for techy people?” Adriaen mumbled under his breath.

He always thought that sort of stereotype was for jocks and preppy people.

"Oh, that’s what I was hoping you’d say!" Donnie squeals, spinning happily in the chair which Adriaen had to grab hold onto to stop Donatello from flying off. Adriaen gazed back at the Purple Dragons club when he heard what sounded like fearful yelling. He saw one of them with the VR headset fell down, yelling something about dogs attacking him. 

The other two members, an asian girl and a larger dark-skinned man, laugh before doing some kind of strange high five. "Oh, my gosh, did you see that?!" Donnie gasps in awe, to which April and Adriaen couldn’t help but give the other a brief glance of uncertainty and inscrutableness.

"What? That whack high five?"

”What about it?”

Donnie chuckled and shook his head at the two, “Nay, fair April and Adriaen. A secret five, evocative of the golden ratios of the cosmos. Superior minds, glorious jackets. Guys I’m joining this club." Donnie exclaims before swaying himself closer to the tech club.

“You're what now?"

”Donnie, wait—“

Adriaen was too late once Donnie entered the Purple Dragons area before he made himself known. "Greetings, tech enthusiasts. I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of your club. Wait for it. Here he comes. It's me." Donnie introduces himself dramatically, as the only female of the club was busy trying to take the VR headset off the other guy who screamed earlier.

However, upon noticing Donnie she stopped and let go of the headset, letting it slap back against the other member who winced and fell back.

"Uh huh. April, that’s your name, right?" 

“You've known me since kindergarten, Kendra."

Kendra. Okay, so that’s her name. Noted.

"Uh huh. Who’s this guy and why does he look like mold? Actually, why do both of these guys have weird, coloured skin?” Kendra questioned, noticing Adriaen hanging out in the back, leaning against the desk. April sighs before going about to introduce everyone to each other. “Jeremy, Jason, Kendra, these are my friends, Adriaen and Don—“ She was rudely cut off by Donnie who stepped in front of her.

“Othello Von Ryan! Maker. Coder. Artisan. I am ready to join your esteem collective.” Donnie exclaims, giving them a false alias as he eagerly went over and started feeling the jacket that Kendra was wearing.

”And with regard to purple jackets I am a medium.”

Kendra clearly annoyed steps onto Donnie’s foot, making the mutant turtle yelp and jump back, hopping on one foot for a minute out of pain.

Well that was to be expected really.

"Sorry Von Ryan, but to join this group, you gotta bring something to the table, so, buh bye."

Donnie smirks before he suddenly pulls out his tech-bō. "Prepare to be Von Ryan'd!" He announces, pointing his staff towards the three members who marvel at it. 

"Wow! It’s the granddaddy of all multi tools!"

Kendra huffs and pushes it away, still not fully convinced, “Okay. It’s not bad. What else ya got?" She praised briefly before asking to see more. April rolls her eyes and crosses her arms together, "Come on. You don’t have to impress these fools.” She stated the obvious, Adriaen walking over to Donnie and placing a hand on his shoulder.

”Donnie, did you forget that we can’t be joining human clubs?”

Donnie chuckled and gently shoved Adriaen’s hand off his shoulder, “That’s what people say when they don’t have anything impressive. Like this!" He smirks in pride, pushing a button on the side of his goggles. Adriaen stepped back, knowing that the button that was pressed was a signal for Donnie to activate his battle shells back at lair.

It didn’t take long before the tech arrived through the window, even pushing Kendra out the way making her fall over. "Sweet! So how did these things communicate? Is it a microwave transceiver?" The larger male member asks, observing all the tech, Kendra had stood back up to also observe.

“With class C encryption protocol." Donnie informs, not even noticing how everyone else in the classroom stopped what they were doing and stared in shock at the advanced technology.

"Oh. My. Fave! I know Class C inside and out."

Kendra pulls back Jeremy, scoffing. "Can the bromance. Von Ryan…” She announces, pointing over at Donatello who stared at her in puzzlement.

”You’re in.”

Oh great.

He noticed how Jase was silently smiling and jumping up and down delightful at their new member. “Quit smiling Jase. You’re still low man on the totem pole." Kendra snapped before forcibly removing Jase’s jacket and throws it to Donnie, the fabric landing on his outstretch arm.

Instantly the latter became ecstatic and immediately puts it on.

“Yes! Be honest, you two. Do I look fantastic or superbly fantastic?"

April stared with a deadpan look, as did Adriaen. "You look like you dropped a juice box in the laundry." She replied, Adriaen giving a soft hum, “Yeah, what she said.” He added before shaking his head and grabbing Donnie by the back of the jacket.

”Come on, let’s go home.”

”What? But what about my new club?!”

Adriaen rolled his eyes, dragging him away. “You can survive time away from it.” He added, pausing when Kendra suddenly called out to them, but her stare was directed at Adriaen.

”You’re not interested in joining? All you have to do is show us whatever tech you got.”

Adriaen looked back before taking out his phone, sarcastically waving it in his hand. 

“This is all the tech I got. Besides, purple isn’t my colour.” 

With that he leaves the room, dragging a whining Donnie behind him as they made it to the sewers. After some walking in the direction of home, Donnie’s demeanour changed from pouty to cool, calm and collected once arriving home.

The two made their way to the others who were each doing their own activities. Raph was living a weight, Leo reading his comics and Mikey balancing himself on his skateboard. "Oh, hey guys. What’s the haps?” Donnie cooly greeted his brothers, Raph being the first to glance in his direction, but no one seemed to comment on the obvious new jacket that Donnie refused to take off.

”Huh? Oh, oh this? I didn’t realize I had it on. This is my sweet new purple satin jacket.” Donnie calmly grins, walking past his brothers who continued doing their own thing.

"Yep.”

"Got it from being a bit of a tech wiz."

“That’s nice."

“Purple Dragons. Members only. No big deal.”

”Mm-hm.”

Donnie suddenly pointed at everyone in pride, “Well, you better grab some toast, fellas, 'cause you are all jelly!" He exclaims, taunting his brothers as he exits the atrium. Adriaen sighed and pulled down his hood, eyeing the brothers as he expected them all to be more annoyed about the jacket.

”Huh, you guys don’t actually care about the—“

Once they heard the door shut, they all yell in frustration. Causing Adriaen to impassively stare at their unnecessary reactions.

Ah I spoke too soon.

"The nerve of that guy!"

"Who brings something that beautiful into a place like this?"

“I would give up every red bandana to feel the silky smoothness of that purple satin on my skin."

Leo made his way over to Adriaen groaning loudly and leaning against the mutant turtle. “Adriaen why didn’t you get us an awesome jacket?” He lightly scolded, only for his crush to push him away for some personal space.

”Next time you can go along with Donnie then.”

”Ugh, but that’s boring.”

”Then don’t complain. Besides, it’s for techy people only.” Adriaen informs, crossing his arms as he made his way over a black beanbag, settling down in it, crossing one leg over the other and taking his phone out to scroll around on social media. ”You’re not going to remove your hoodie?” Leo tilted his head at him as Adriaen without looking up from his phone hums in reply before saying the next sentence without really much thinking about it.

”Take it off yourself if you so badly don’t want me wearing it.”

Leo of course felt his face turn red as he could feel the gears in his head malfunctioning, unable to say a proper sentence, he walks away instead in a robotic manner. Adriaen breathes out softly and leaned back into the beanbag, it was too comfortable that he could easily sleep in this. Taking this peace and quiet that he rarely gets, he closed his eyes.

A short nap won’t hurt…

Seconds, turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours. The sun had set, and New York was met with the night life. No one had come to wake up Adriaen who had fallen asleep peacefully on the beanbag chair, his phone resting inside the pockets of his hoodie that he still wore from earlier this morning.

Adriaen himself was occupied with a dream. A dream that was so vivid.

He stood alone in a black room, looking around in puzzlement as he called out to anyone nearby. “Hello? Where is everyone? Leo…?” His voice bounced off the black walls, it was eerie and unsettling from how quiet it was.

What is this place? Why am I here alone?

He started walking around, maybe he could get a clue on his whereabouts if he kept moving. His eyes narrow ahead when he spots something in the distance. A white door with a sign above that read;

‘Who Are You?’

Adriaen felt his fingers twitch, as he stared at the unmoving door that seemed to be taunting him. 

Who am I? Wait…is this the answer to what I’ve been trying to find out about myself? 

His feet instantly walked over, but after a few seconds he noticed that the door wasn’t getting closer and he himself was getting further and further away.

No…come on, it’s right there! Move you stupid legs!

He started running but this time the door was moving further, and Adriaen was just stuck on the spot. He reached his hand out in hopes to reach for the handle of the white door, but he was awoken when someone was shaking him.

”…aen.”

”Adri…”

”Adriaen!”

Adriaen gasped and sat up sharply, panting as though he ran a marathon as he looked around with wide eyes, taking in his surroundings. He was in the lair; in the same beanbag he fell asleep in.

No black room.

No white door with creepy sign.

Just a dream…

He looked up to see Donnie was the one who shook him awake, he seemed a bit taken back when Adriaen woke up looking startled, but he reverted back to his usual self.

”Come on, those satin purple jerks stole my tech and now are stealing all kinds of technology.”

”…What now?”

Donnie didn’t have time to repeat all that as he grabs Adriaen’s arm and yanked him out the beanbag, dragging him along to the topside to meet up with April. By the time they did, Donnie filled him in on the situation.

Donnie remained inside the basket that was clipped onto the front of the bicycle that April was riding, Adriaen sat behind their human friend. "I...warned you about those guys!" April panted out, scolding Donnie who scoffed lightly, “You said they were full of themselves, not that they were criminal masterminds. So, in a small sense, this is entirely your fault." Donnie defended himself, as Adriaen raised his eyes at him.

"Seriously?”

”First of all, no. And second, what kind of criminal masterminds just rob electronic stores?" April added in, giving a brief glare at the tech savvy turtle before asking the real question that weighed on her mind.

"Maybe they just need equipment for a bigger job." Adriaen suggested, it sounds reasonable enough for a bunch of tech club students to do. “Like the one they were practicing on that VR simulator?  The Nakamura vault?" April asks to which Donnie groans in realisation upon hearing the familiar name.

"Aw, that’s a real company! Nakamura computer chips are in, like, every computer in the country! Let’s go."

April pedaled faster to reach the destination of the Nakamura facility. Luckily, they were close enough to the building that it didn’t take long to reach their final destination.

However, with no way inside and no doubt the Purple Dragons must be inside the building already thanks to Donatello’s tech, the trio were stuck outside. "How are we gonna get up there with no tech?" April inquired, looking around to get any ideas flowing to her head. Adriaen was also looking around, but nothing came to mind.

"Old school. Jazz hands!" Donnie announces, holding up a pair of metal claws that were used in ancient times for warriors to scale the walls.

“Wait, Donnie those aren’t going to help us—“

Adriaen’s words fell into deaf ears as Donnie jumps up onto the window but didn’t get far, slamming against the glass and sliding down.

“It’s glass Donnie, these claws are made for tougher terrain.”

"Come on, Plan B." April assured, grabbing Donnie by his foot and sliding him along the window, Adriaen running along beside her, the trio find a back door that didn’t seem to be locked, lucky for them, and ran in.

They were unfortunately met with staircase after staircase, but with pure determination they run up, all panting from exhaustion and legs aching, April briefly paused to check what floor they were at, only to see they were at the fifty-third floor.

“Oh, come on!"

”Keep moving April.” Adriaen encouraged, his mouth a little dry but he powered through it. Eventually the trio made it to the top floor, all panting to catch their breaths as Donnie growls lightly and pointed over at the Purple Dragons who were hacking away in the computer room.

"Okay, nerds, I want my stuff back!"

"I got the code! Let’s go!" Jeremy exclaims, making a break for it with the other two members, in an instant the two mutant turtles and April five chase. Donnie slipped when he tried to round a sharp turn, but thinking on his feet he grabs a roll of cable and throws it

“End of the line, buddy-o! April, Adriaen, heads up!"

April catches the cable holding onto one end and throwing the other end to Adriaen who easily catches it, he speeds up and managed to get ahead of Jase and Jeremy, holding up the wire as did April on her end and the two trip the hackers over.

Jase throws the laptop to Kendra, “The code!” Jeremy announces as Kendra caught it before it could hit the ground. 

"Got it!"

April, Adriaen and Donnie stood over Jase and Jeremy, tying them up together so they couldn’t escape. "Never betray…Othello Von Ryan! Grab the tech! I’ll tether myself to your jetpack!" Donnie instructed the three grabbing the tech off of Jeremy and Jase.

April was the one who wore the jet pack, much to her shock and dismay.

“Wait, what?!"

Kendra jumps out of the facility, Donnie and April follow with Donnie's jet pack shell on her back. Because there was only two tech that they took from the hackers from inside the building, Donnie grabbed Adriaen securely and held him close as he attached himself to April who screams as she tried to fly.

"How do you fly this thing?"

“Everyone’s got their own style. Just do what comes natural."

“What comes natural is not flying!"

Adriaen being the only one without tech and had to rely on Donatello to hold him or else he’d fall down from the sky, well…it was nerve wracking for anyone in his position.

”Donnie if you drop me, I promise you I’m going to haunt you forever.”

It honestly felt like a roller coaster, screaming as April loops around in the sky to pursue Kendra who seemed to be a natural. Kendra took shots at them with Donnie’s bō to fire them out the sky. The jetpack fired again and they flew straight at Kendra.

Due to the speed and April’s uncoordinated flying, the bō staff smashed right into Donnie's head. Adriaen naturally lowered his own head into his shell to avoid getting hit. Kendra blasted at them with the bō staff once more, laughing evilly and comes in close with the bō in mallet form and takes out April’s jetpack, sending her, Adriaen and Donnie plummeting into an alley.

The trio crash landed onto some trash to cushion their fall, but it still hurt none the less. Adriaen groans and poked his head out of his shell, rubbing his head as April sat up.

"I think I broke your jetpack."

Donnie stood up, seemingly unhurt and unfazed by the situation, the battle shell he wore had his mechanical arms springing out.

”No probbles, I go this!"

Kendra flies down slightly to them, grinning. "Not so fast, Von Ryan." She muses, typing away something in the computer she held. Managing to take control of the shell Donnie is wearing, the mechanical arms began attacking Donatello, gripping at his throat.

"Oh! Hey! No! Stop! Override! Override! Alpha Bootyyyshaker9000! Three Y's!" Donnie panicked, rolling around on the floor as Adriaen became alert and pounced onto battle shell, struggling momentarily to get it off Donnie’s back.

"Well, Von Ryan, looks like you’re out of luck. I’d love to spend all night beating you up with your own tech, but I’ve got a global bank to hack. Buh-bye." Kendra taunted, floating back up into the air to leave. Adriaen successfully managed to rip off the hacked battle shell, but it was still set on targeting Donnie who gulped and curled up slightly, hands on his head to protect himself since he was basically vulnerable in this state.

Adriaen naturally stood in front of a Donatello to protect him, even though he didn’t have his kama’s with him, he wasn’t going to let Donnie get hurt on his watch.

"Heads up, guys!" 

April managed to jump in with a wooden bat in her grasp, swinging the mechanical arms away before she battled with the tech as she rolled around on the floor with it.

Huh, okay then. Not sure where she got the bat but who am I to complain.

“Thanks April.” Adriaen sighs in relief that she pushed back the tech away from Donnie. "Those rotors! The reason I never wear a jacket is that I'm terrified it would get caught in them." Donnie proclaimed, keeping his gaze on the rotors that Kendra was flying up in.

"How ‘bout using a jacket to block those rotors?" April sassed out, to which Donnie hums and nods in agreement, “Exactly. Give me yours or Adriaen’s.” He held his hand out for either of them to put their jackets and hoodie in. “What? No!” Adriaen slapped his hand down, as April paused her fight with the battle shell, “Use your own jacket!" She hissed at him, reverting back to fighting against the hacked tech.

“Gah! You know, even though this whole thing was your fault, April, I guess it is up to me to solve it."

April once again paused her fight and glared lightly at Donnie, "Ooh, we're gonna have a talk." She grumbled at him, Adriaen sighed and walked over to April to help her out.

”Don’t bother. He’s too proud to admit that it’s his fault.”

He looks around and found an old rusty pipe, he picks it up and shrugs his shoulders as he goes ahead to smash at the tech that tried to choke out April. He was successful, but now he just hoped that Donnie wouldn’t get mad at him for destroying his tech.

"Fare thee well, my synthetic darling. I hardly knew ye, but parting is such sweet—“ 

Adriaen and April had enough of the dramatics from Donnie who had took off the Purple Dragons jacket, bunching it into a ball to throw.

"Just do it!”

The two order at Donnie who sighs but didn’t fight or argue back, "Okay." He sadly mumbled as he reels back his arm and throws the jacket at Kendra who laughs, unaware of the flying jacket coming at her until it was too late.

The jacket clogs Kendra’s rotors, sending her crashing back into the alley, dropping the computer that had the Nakamura code in it, she reached out for the device only for April to smash it with her foot. “Sorry, Kendra. Looks like your computer’s—wait for it. Wait for it…crashed! Bam! I should write for the news!" April taunted, proud of her Leo-like pun. Adriaen softly sighed at her, mostly just relieved that this was over, and they can head home.

Suddenly he was distracted when purple cloth came raining down over them, the fabric being of the purple jacket that was unmistakably ruined. Donnie stood in the middle of alleyway, looking up at the night sky as he held his hand out for the fabric pieces to fall into.

“Alas, a classic tale of a well meaning loner who just couldn’t fit in with a band of well dressed crooks."

April and Adriaen made their way over to him, the two putting their hands on Donnie’s shoulders.

“That’s okay, Donnie. You’ll always be in the April O’Neil Dorky Pals for Life Club. We also got one other member in it already. Ain’t that right Adriaen?”

”Heh, guess I wouldn’t mind joining this club.”

Donnie smiled at the two, exhaling to relieve any tension in his body. “Thanks guys." He mumbled quietly but also in appreciation.

"No matter how stupid you dress."

Adriaen snorted lightly at the last sentence from April, before he perked up when police sirens were inching closer to the alley they were in. "Hey, you wanna help me get this stuff back to the lair?" Donnie quickly begged the two, picking up one of his techs in his arms. April and Adriaen do the same, each grabbing a tech that was stolen from the lair and running off with it.

“I say yes to you way too often."

”Tell me about it.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I APOLOGISE FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES THAT WERE MADE, I TYPE REALLY FAST AND OFTEN DON'T SEE THEM UNTIL I ACTUALLY PUBLISH THE CHAPTER.   

BOOM! Enjoy some Donnie and Adriaen content because I see them as being like best friends, since Adriaen is like the only one who sorta listens to Donnie whenever he goes on his usual rambles and whatnot.

First Chapter here

Next Chapter here

[thornilee013]

WIP Wednesday 9.10.2024

Ahoy! Welcome back!

If you don't know how WIP Wednesdays work, hop down to the "read more!" If you do know the drill, my offerings for this week are listed here and my snippet of writing to prove that I have, in fact, made progress over the last week, is also under the "read more." (TLC)

1. Pulling Through

2. 101 Ways Not to Say I Do

3. Etienne (AFTG)

4. Needle AU

5. TLC (AFTG)

6. Baby Jean (AFTG)

6. Dealer's Choice (a snippet from a random project of my choosing! Also, you'll force me to work on one of my secret projects and can feel a lil evil)

YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE CAUGHT UP ON MY PROJECTS IN THE SLIGHTEST OR EVEN FOLLOW THEM TO BEGIN WITH TO SEND IN AN ASK. Please please please do not be shy. I love WW and the more asks I get the more excited I am.

*** Important note: I have a very physically demanding job and don't have access to a keyboard until much later in the day. I'll get to any asks sent in before the next WW though! ***

How WW works:

- you send me an ask with the name of any of the prompts that I've provided! I take multiple requests, even for the same project! (This is something that varies depending on the participant, so make sure to pay attention to any limits other people have put in place.)

- I respond to your ask(s) with three new sentences that I have written for that project. Sometimes they're chronological, and sometimes they're from a scene that I'm working on that is new from the previous week. I'll include notes for context.

- enjoy the sneak peeks at my projects!!! Everything that gets posted is in its "Rough Draft" stage, and I'll go through and edit/revise them before posting them to Ao3.

- spread the word! Send asks to fellow participants and reblog others' WWs! The more writing, the better!!!

SNIPPET FROM THIS LAST WEEK:

“Kevin was right, though.”

Jean cocked an eyebrow and turned his body so he was facing her more completely. “Please never say that again.”

Renee laughed. God, there was nothing he wouldn't do to draw laughs like that from her for an eternity. Hearing her laughter was like drinking a glass of water after getting home from a run in the summer heat: refreshing, fulfilling, and grounding. “I mean it, Jean. You deserve a team that will be kinder to you than us Foxes.”

“If I wanted kindness then I wouldn't play Exy,” Jean countered.

[anything-but-the-kitchen-sink]

Team Hot Wheels: Imaginators Update!

Hey everyone! HolyGhostFlo here with another update!

This time I'm not alone though! Our head writer, Grace C. is here with me! She's my boss!

I am not her boss. Also, I was coerced into doing this.

What she means by that is I FINALLY managed to convince her to have an online presence and speak to you guys. Hooray!

Sidenote: For the sake of clarity, my words will show up like this...

...and mine will show up like this. Hello, all.

Okay! SOOOO we are here to catch all up to speed with what's going on behind the scenes with Team Hot Wheels!

Starting with... the Road Pirates episode! Take it away, Grace!

Yes. I've been made aware that anticipation for our episode is building. Admittedly, it's a little nerve-wracking. We don't want it to be a disappointment, but if we keep attempting to make it perfect, it may never release at all. So, we won't dwell on it's imperfections... for too long anyway.

As for how it's progressing... well... we have more of it written out, but the script is FAR from finished. We are almost considering releasing what we DO have finished, and just coming out with the episode, part-by-part, until it's completed.

If we can't decide soon, we'll release a poll on the Imaginators database blog and hear what the fans have to say, that way we know what you want.

As for the next topic...

The DATABASE!

If you've been an active follower on the Team Hot Wheels database, you've probably been wondering why it hasn't been getting much content lately.

Yeah... that's our bad. Everyone on the team (which is actually just Grace and I), is an active college student trying to balance our academic lives with this project. Recently, we've both had to crunch down and neglect the blog for a bit, but rest assured we are still here!

I always feel awful leaving that blog hanging for months at a time...

That's why I try to draw new art when I can. To keep things going!

Speaking of which...

TA-DAAA!

You like? I realized we hadn't done a full team ensemble with their racer outfits on in quite a while, so here we are!

She never gets tired of drawing...

What can I say? I love my boys!

Alright, onto the third topic... asks!

We've noticed you guys ask a lot of questions in different places. Let's address that.

First off, we LOVE your questions!

We are always excited to see new ones in our inbox! However, we can't always answer all of them. If you don't get an answer in the time frame you want, here are a couple reasons why:

Your question is a request for something. Usually, if you are requesting a comic, or something similar of that nature... it might not be answered. This is simply because comics take forever to make. We'd love to answer, but it would take DAYS to write the script for the comic, and even LONGER to draw the comic itself. That doesn't mean you won't get an answer, as short strip comics are simpler to make and we don't like to leave your questions hanging anyway.

Your question is asking about something that happened directly in the original series, but hasn't happened HERE yet. We've received a couple questions asking about Monkey, from Build the Epic Race. We can't answer those simply because he hasn't made an appearance in Imaginators yet. Remember, this series is technically a soft reboot, what was canon THERE is not necessarily canon HERE. Oh, but if you're worried about him, don't be. He'll show up soon!

You're asking for something we've already planned to do, but later down the line. If you've asked for an origin story, you are both very clever and very stuck. We HAVE an origin story in the works right now, currently under the working title, Season 0. Unfortunately, that won't come out until MUCH later, so you'll just have to wait.

You asked an intriguing question, but it may not be appropriate to show up on the blog. In this particular case, it will sadly be ignored. Things like nsfw content will not be responded to at all, no exceptions.

If you feel like you can't ask a question on the Team Hot Wheels database, come ask me! You're definitely more likely to get an answer from my blog. All I ask is that you keep your questions PG. Please and thank you!

Can confirm, she'll respond. She's just as crazy as the rest of you.

I'm going to ignore that.

Last thing!

An Art Dump, from yours truly!

Firstly, a few unfinished sketches...

Secondly, a screenshot redraw I did for a mutual a while back. (Both colored and black and white version).

Thirdly... new character concepts!

This one was supposed to be the cover for a mini-story about Rhett, Wheelie, and Brandon getting trapped inside the Garage on a stormy night, so they tell each other stories to pass the time, not realizing a leaky tank of Liquimagination from beneath them is making their stories come to life! (The story was.maent to come out on Halloween, but we missed the deadline, so it'll release AFTER the Road Pirates ep).

...and finally, here's artwork that I finished but had no real reason to post anywhere.

With that, this update reaches it's conclusion!

We hope you'll continue to support us and our Team. Thank you for your patience, as always.

Let's hope next time, I can convince Grace to start her own Tumblr!

Yeah... not a chance.

[artofalassa]

Hey! I've seen some posts you've made where you mention you've been struggling with the WW Lives comic and that you're really excited about FF and as a Trigun fan and someone who adores the WW comic, I just wanted to say that if you ever feel like you want to jump fandoms or abandon a work you can do it!

The worst feeling in the world is when some project you were passionate about becomes a chore so if you want to keep it going I'll wait as long as it takes and I'll love it! But if you ever feel like stopping I wanted to reassure you that it's ok, and that you don't owe anything to any fandom! You can do whatever you want, forever! 💙

Hello, anon friend! You have no idea how MUCH this message means to me. <3 I have hard times leaving a project I started, because I am an idiot who hates feeling like a quitter and I want to keep my word. The word I gave to you guys here, to my patrons, to people who appreciate my artwork and thus make me feel whole and like I have at least some sort of a voice. And while I'm not about to drop it, it really means a lot to know that it's okay to do so in case i needed a break. Thank you so much! <3

The situation with WW Lives is not as bad as I may have made it out to be. My apologies! <3 I'm just dumbfounded for my renewed love for FFVII. An energy I haven't felt towards it in a year and... well. Feels rather nostalgic, when I was saying things like 'I'm not quitting' a few months ago, just targetted at VII. I needed some fresh air and Trigun gave it to me.

I am just extremely whiny now, because the last few weeks have been a lot of pressure, I'm on the edge of a little burn out and the next four/five pages of the chapter I'm about to draw for WWL (ch6) are a bit difficult. I suck when it comes to dynamic scenes. I suck when it comes to action. And boy am I bad coming up with choreographies for fights. And you guessed right - there's a fight. Or like. A little hassle. And I am anxious to do it right, don't want to do it, but also want to finish it, because I am SO excited about what comes of it and after that. And man. The thought of quitting just when we're about to meet the boi? OH NO. I'm not doing that. <3 Thank you for the reassurance, though! <3 <3 Reading it almost made me sob in the morning. I always said that Trigun fandom is really lovely, so thank you for confirming that! It means a lot. <3

[shadowwrath264]

About Poppy Playtime Chapter 4, Poppy Playtime Games & The Prototype

Hello everybody, this is Shadow264 aka, Shadow Wrath. It has been too lomg, hasn't it? My apologies. Thing have been very very busy at my end, with loads of issues and stuff. Hopefully they'll be sorted out soon.

SO ANYWAY, you guys heard that Poppy Playtime Chapter 4 is coming next year? Excited? You know I am, too.

Now, about the entire game of Poppy Playtime.... i really need to get this off my chest since its Chapter 2 Game and before Chapter 3 was released and way before Chapter 4 and Project Playtime came about.....

I, came the closest to solving Poppy Playtime in terms of the Prototype and the ENTIRE Facility.

Now, you all maybe wondering how I managed that, do you?

Now, you see the Factory, it is so gigantic. SO GIGANTIC that it can home many trains inside the facility to go anywhere around the factory. That includes the conveyor belts back in Chapter 1. Now, I must confess to you guys, too that I can picture things in my head. Which means possibilities are endless for me.

And after seeing the conveyor belts in Chapter 1 and the trains in Chapter 2 and Project Playtime, and the locations, as well in all game chapters, THEN things began to add up. The Factory is more than just a Factory. It is like... well, like the Hive from Resident Evil, but twisted, which means this Factory is not a Toy Factory. It is a Laboratory. The Toy Factory gig is simply a cover up to get people off their backs from the BIGGER and UTTER abominations that they're making out of the kids they took in. The Game Station is nothing more than tests to see which toy each child is compatible with.

..... which is when, the Prototype comes in.

Now, the Prototype. Believe it or not. I was the only one who came the closest to revealing him. And how did that come about? Well, that's simple. This eventually leads us to Chapter 3 and upcoming Chapter 4 and my ealier findings. Yes, the Prototype caused the Hour of Joy and he was the one who caused everything behind the scenes. But what if I were to tell you that he had subordinates? Those, were Huggy Wuggy, Mommy Long Legs and his disciple, Catnap. He didn't want to show himself yet because he was still incomplete. That is why he sent them out as his pawns, his foot soldiers so he can slowly prepare himself to fight you while he watches you, where ever he lies.

And YES, The Prototype has been watching us the whole time. There were a few occasions, really when we play the tapes about the Prototype at the near ends of the Chapters. You will notice that there was a laser pointer pointing on the TV. THAT was actually the sign that the Prototype.... was watching.... and he was.... behind you.

Shocking, isn't it?

Now, continuing on about the Factory as I'll be also bring in The Prototype, too. Moving on, yes the Factory is like a Hive, whereby there is a train system, conveyor belt system, a Playcare, the new edition from Chapter 4, a Prison or a Security Facility are stationed waaaaay waaaaaaaaaay underground of the Factory, which tells us this; On the outside, they are making toys for Joy, but on the inside, it is all experimentation and hell in there. Which brings to what I have thought about and pictured.

You see, before Chapter 3, Project Playtime and Chapter 4 came out, I always believed that Playtime Co. is much more bigger than this to make those huge toys that turn into monsters. So, I decided to picture, think and draw them out. An underground school, an experiment room, a facility to house the toys in, a testing chamber, the TOP SECRET Room, and many more which also involves the Prototype. When Chapter 3 and the upcoming Chapter 4 surfaced, that's when I realized (again, I say this), I came the closest to solving the Prototype. While discovering that, I also discover that the Factory is like a Hive, meaning if there is a way in, that means there has to be multiple ways out of the Factory, from both above, and below.

The Experiment Rooms are one thing, but when it comes to the Prototype, what I discover is quite simple and easy to read. The Prototype is not just like a living Frankenstein's Monster, or the Kindred itself, it is a sentient being with its own singularity. That's why it's so smart to make a laser pointer and escape. Now, you are wondering why the other toys didn't escape but the Prototype somehow did? Well that is simple. Its Experiment Room was located sonewhere else beyond the bigger bodies experiements' reach comsidering the Prototype's sentience. Which leaves me to suspect that the Prototype is being stationed.... way below the Chapter 4 levels of the Playtime Co. Factory.... why else would it be able to move freely? Cause' it already knows in and out of that Factory. That's why.

I was coming close to solving the entire Factory's schematics and the Prototype's identity theoratically all on my own, but.... idk.... something stopped me from proceeding further due to the fact that something is telling me.... that 'I know too much'.

So, I stopped. But not out, yet. I'm just secretly theorizing still so i'll do my best to crack everything the best I can.

Yeah. That's what's going on and the thing I wanna get off my chest. Creepy right? Though i'm beatin the bush around and repeating but, you should get the idea on where i am coming from.

Welp, that should be all for me for the time being. If you like, I'll put some posts about Chapters 1 to 4, too on my own time. So for now, this is it for me, and it's good to be back.

[lopsushi]

I read the Comic you dropped and firstly a ITS AMAZING!!! Secondly it was only secondtime around i Zoomed in and Notice David Is crying!! OMG that sneaky detail was So Alofsive to my eagle eyes i didnt notice it until now ...I am Loooving the story!! Cant wait for the next one, I do looove the way You've gave us a panel of a Very Purry Yandere wukong Im sorry but that was VERYYYY CUUTE!! 🥰🥰

I wish for all the luck you'll have for the future of this comic!!

Macaque~ (Yes thats my actual name Lmao)

I’m glad you enjoyed the comic! I was determined to finish it but yes! I add some small details here and there yay! ☺️

And yes I wanted to add a purring/soft Yandere Wukong because I love drawing those scene of him 🩵 me too! I’m excited to see where our project goes too and thank you dear ☺️

[mrghostrat]

Howdy! I am really considering starting a fic of my own and I've already got so much stuff written out for it, as well as a decent plan of action, but I always lose motivation right when I think I'm about to get it started. I'm always this way with big projects and I feel like small oneshots have been too little to sustain my brainrot, Do you have any tips on writing to share with a newbie?

i do!! i've been there a thousand times, with all kinds of projects (fan and original). know that it's a skill that you can hone, and the more you write the better you'll get at sustaining longer works 🙏

it's one of those things that's part luck at first, but hopefully this can help:

don't share WIPs or snippets, especially when you really really want to. maybe find one friend who will hype you up and get ferally excited in DMs about it, so you've got an outside force that's encouraging you to get to the later plot points. but in general, resist the urge

because you know that lil burst of dopamine you get when you share a sketch or wip or something online, and people are interacting with it or maybe congratulating you on your progress, and you feel really accomplished for a bit? yeah, that can be detrimental to long form projects. because brain says why bother finishing the thing or doing any more; you've already gotten the dopamine out of it, you already feel accomplished, let's rest! brain bad.

write the whole thing before you post it.

getting audience feedback is exquisite, and it can be a real driving force to make you want to continue. but it can also be a burden if you're in this early stage of honing your longform skills. you might get too swept up in the pressure to update if it's been a while since you wrote, and that can sour your whole association of the project. when it becomes a have to instead of a want to.

alternatively, some people work better under this kind of pressure. it's very subjective.

reread your work before diving back in

i sometimes reread too much and make myself really bored of it, so be careful not to hack and pick at it like i do. but if you go a week without writing, reread your last chapter/scene before starting the next. it can draw you in, trigger flow, and if you're me and you're obsessed w your own stories, will get you impatient to read what happens next which FORCES you to write the damn thing

baby step into it

i get that "one shots aren't enough" 100%. but it can def be daunting to suddenly commit yourself to a 50k multichapter when you're not used to it. plan something that has one or two pivotal plot beats and set yourself up for a 10k thing with a couple of chapters. ease yourself into it. set yourself up for success ✨

[kiiyome-art]

I've been thinking a lot about destiny lately, and how I want to go about writing and drawing out my warlock, Vienna's, story, now that the light and dark saga is coming to a close. I was a bit late to the destiny scene, all things considered, and between my creative struggles and (trying) to be a functional human being, I've not created as much as id have liked to. So come along with me on my little rant as I think allowed my thoughts, if you feel so inclined.^^

There's still so much I want to write, and stories to tell within the destiny universe.

I started playing the game during season of the plunder, when my friends introduced me to it, and we became a glorious fireteam! I was drawn to the pretty warlock space magic immediately, and thus, Vienna was born. ( Though I've since become a hunter main, she's still my favorite blorbo. )

I quickly fell in love with the story and it's characters, dug deep into the lore and since then, her story has gone through a LOT of changes. I try to stick close to the canon story for the most part, in my universe Vienna is the young wolf who was risen in D1, and has since gone through most of what we see throughout the dlcs and seasons past then, I'll probably elaborate on that further at one point.

Most of my drawings that I've posted here are fun little doodles, occasional quips between characters, and overall "for fun" stuff. The majority of what I've thought up for Vienna has been confined to my own head and the rare rants to my friends. And now with final shape being so close, I feel myself pressured to know, and write down, everything that I can. Which, realistically, is silly.

I had plans to make a three minute animatic of Vienna during forsaken since it was a MASSIVE turning point for her, have it out by final shape, then make an entirely NEW animatic based off OF final shape, mostly inspired by Caydes return. Whilst I had mapped out most of it and gotten some rough sketches down, I didn't even begin on the actual project. Could I have? Probably. Do i feel guilty about it? Yes. Will those projects still happen? Hopefully.

I know for all you creatives out there that might be reading this, the feeling of having plans, and not being able to carry through with them, or it not turning out how you wanted, is a shitty feeling, not foreign to ANY of us.

I felt myself compelled to write this in the first place because I know that, well, I'm not alone.

There's many creatives out there feeling the same pressure to get stuff done as I am, even if we don't say it. We want to have everything figured out, to create something wonderful, with the final shape feeling like "the end" of destiny as we know it and all. So this is me calling out to whoever might be listening; be nicer to yourself.

You have all the time in the world to create that animation, paint that painting, write that story. Just because final shape is "an ending," doesn't mean you can't still work on and have fun with the story beats you have in mind prior to Final Shape. No ones gunna call it silly, were all equally starved for content here. And who knows, once we all know how final shape ends, it might inspire you and help your story flow together better.

I'll try my best to tag my posts relating to Vienna and her fireteam with time stamps from now on, as I tend to jump all over the place and it could get really confusing really fast. The TLDR of it all;

Don't feel guilty about unfinished projects. Final shape isn't the end, dont let it be, and dont feel confined to just creating content relating to post final shape.

That's all! I appreciate you reading if you got this far, and im excited to see the amazing things the Destiny corner of tumblr will come up with next.

See you starside! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

[pygmi-cygni]

That is excellent advice too, thank you so much! But I was thinking more like this: I am waking up, spending time with a pet, driving home from work/an outing, washing dishes, (scrolling Tumblr 😉), what have you. I want the next thing I do after one or more of those tasks to be sitting down and wrestling with that blank page. Do you have any tricks for making that happen a little more often?

ohhhh so like a motivation thing? ok lemme try again ( i just woke up lmao she's still rebooting)

writing is sometimes intimidating, which can be why a lot of people have a hard time 'getting started.' like in the previous post, it's very altered to the author, so blanket organization tips and motivators might not work.

this is something I do:

before i start a story, i pick a colored notebook and a pen color that match. this is the color of the stationary i use to draft/edit/etc. I like the colors, it's fun and it makes it feel more exciting to plan out the gross stuff. also, if I scribble down notes somewhere random I can remember what story they go to based on the ink color.

I also make a playlist, and I'll take a walk while listening to it to get myself in the mood for writing. maybe certain songs I associate with certain parts, and I'll loop those if I need to figure a scene out.

make a list for everything you want to happen to finish this piece of writing. I mean like

pick title

write draft 1

edit

write draft 2

make a header/banner/cover etc

design fanart

taglist (tumblr specific)

Like I said a couple of posts back (i don't remember which one) productivity is productivity. if you really feel like writing is the last thing you want to do, don't force it out of yourself. you'll grow to resent it. pick something that is productive to the end result of publishing and do that. maybe design a banner/cover/art piece for it. draw your own fanart. it's not cringe. pick a title. draw a map. it'll help you think about your story more deeply without grinding words out of you.

pinterest boards are also fun for me! i like picking the pictures, sometimes I'll see a post and think 'oh that could be a cool setting' or something like that. sometimes I get overwhelmed and end up scrolling for cool jewelry so it's a dangerous choice lmao.

read a book or piece of writing that mimics a style you want to write with. tab dialogue you like and setting, and then while you're writing revisit that to jog your memory. If there was a book you were reading that inspired your current project, reread a couple parts.

writertok compilations are my favorite lmao it's a guilty pleasure. I like hearing about other people writing to make me realize I should get back to it and stop ignoring my 7 wips

xox that's what I got for ya

[nonsensefromtheabyss]

W.I.P Wednesday 1: The List

I don’t really know how big of a deal WIP Wednesday is on here, but it’s when my writing club used to be so I’ve decided I might as well start again! Maybe not every Wednesday, but I think it might be nice to share my thoughts instead of cannibalising them quietly. This week, I am doing that project list I mentioned before: Behold! Here are all the works I have on the schedule/drawing board at the moment. 

HAZBIN HOTEL. 

A Broken Record On Repeat In A Crowded Bar: a story about a brutally injured Alastor refusing to rely on his friends and toying with the boundaries of his deal. It also looks at everyone else’s perspectives post-extermination and features a lot of Charlie struggling with where she and her dreams stand in the new status quo. Quite dark, mostly character driven, will be 13 chapters long when done.

Still working on Chapter 5. Have been working on Chapter 5 for longer than I ever thought possible. Unfortunately my hours at work have increased which, along with a few changes in my personal life, means I’ve had less project time recently. It is hovering somewhere around 2/3s completed and I’m still hopeful to get it out this month. Overall, the whole project is sitting at around 60,000 words if I tally up all the chapter documents—not bad for an idea that started as a fucking oneshot!

I’ve also finally got a table that I can paint at, so I’m doing a painting of the Final Confrontation. No idea why; I sneezed and the sketch appeared. I have absolutely no faith that it’ll be finished by the time I upload that chapter, but sometimes we do these things for the journey. And the joy of painting. I’ve not had anywhere to paint for a year.

PROFESSOR LAYTON. 

When The Dust Settles and Professor Layton And The Master’s Last Painting: post Unwound Future Sycamore and Layton team up to solve a case where the people have vanished from a bunch of paintings. At the same time, Layton is trying to uncover what his estranged brother has been doing for the past three years. Mystery elements, psychological elements, a complete disregard for reality; slightly darker than the game series, but only in the sense that I describe the violence. The prologue and first part of what’s planned to be a trilogy. 

I actually don’t know if anyone here knows about these works; I wasn’t on tumblr when I started them. And I’ve been gone for… quite some time…

Basically, I got halfway through Chapter 15 and got really, really stuck—partly due to other things happening in my life at the time, and partly because it… wasn’t feeling right. To try and refresh myself with how we’d gotten to that point in the story, I read back through all my published Layton work and… was not inspired. I actually realised how much I disliked my early writing; I wasn’t using scenes or characters effectively, the threads for the mystery as a whole were either too obscure or flat out not there—I was displeased. Particularly because this is a project I get really excited about when I think about my plans for the series; all my work deserves my best effort, but this one in particular has a lot of potential to me that I don’t feel like I captured in my initial writings. Time to start fresh! Take another swing at it! I have a different method of working now, and I feel certain that this time I can capture my vision.

So, I finished my dissertation and cleared my first ever Big Project, and I had already started on the big rewrite… and then I fell down a hole into Hazbin Hotel. I cannot stress enough that Broken Record was supposed to be a oneshot. Finishing these two works is next on my list, this time I swear it. I already have the story divided up into chapter documents, and some have been fully reworked, It Is Happening. You still probably won’t see anything for a while yet, but if you’re one of my readers from before or on the off chance you’re curious now, feel free to pop up to chat about it!

RIDDLE SCHOOL. 

Unnamed Project. I’m so fucking back. Some very lovely people said they’d be interested in seeing more from me in my Riddle V.I.Z.ion universe, and I accidentally fell in love with these characters all over again while completing that project. Yall convinced me and I am so very happy about that!

The work will be a collection of moments from the aliens’ lives, jumping around in time between past and present within the timeline and history I’ve given them. More detail into how they work together, what their home planet is like, what they actually got up to as V.I.Z.ion members, stuff like that! Basically an excuse for me to write more for them. At the minute, I have their timelines (collective and individual) plotted out in a document, and have selected sections of history I think would be interesting to explore, so I would say a rough plot is hesitantly in place! 

Because it’s not going to be precisely linear (given that we already know where they end up, I don’t think there’s anything to be gained from sticking to the laws of time!) I’m thinking I can be a bit more flexible with myself in how I work on it. Which means I might try and fit it in around other projects as a little treat to refresh myself. If I think of it like Short Stories In A Shared Universe instead of Another Book, it feels manageable that I might add to it without disrupting my workflow, which means it hopefully won’t take another seven years (always a good thing!)

I’m also doing more art for Riddle V.I.Z.ion as well, fuck it. I had a vision (hah!) I saw the shipyard and the miserable campfire. I’ve never painted space before, but this seems a good enough reason to try. (I’ve painted the woods many, Many times.)

So, if you’re interested in this project while it’s still in the early stages, or you’ve read Riddle V.I.Z.ion and were interested in more, feel free to drop by and chat! Currently I’m stuck on a name; Puzzle Pieces has a certain appeal, but I think that would also be nice as a series title, and I think I’d like to keep the ‘Riddle’ naming theme for the main instalments. Riddle Classified? Riddle Planet? Riddle Logbook? Unauthorised Access feels nice in my head, but again with the lack of ‘Riddle’ continuity. Hm. I’ll keep at it. It’s the annoying moment where I realise that ‘Riddle V.I.Z.ion’ itself would have been the perfect title for this too!

DON’T HUG ME I’M SCARED. 

Three Friends, Three Foes, Three Names They’ll Never Know: a series of drabbles about terrible things happening to the Three Guys. Very graphic and violent. Horror elements with a lot of gore.

Believe it or not, I actually have three more chapters I always meant to add to that story that just got pushed around in favour of other things. Always meant to get back around and finish them; as you can see, they’re on The List!

So, in short order, we have ‘The Yellow Guy Chapter (a nightmare about stairs)’, ‘The Bigger Boys Chapter (bestie you forgot about The Cycle)’, and the ‘Lore Chapter (contains nothing of use to anyone, is Not A Theory.)’ They’re all about 1/3 done; i dip into them whenever I feel like rewatching the series or writing psychological and physical horror without any embellishments. Not much to declare on this front but they will be done at some point.

RESIDENT EVIL: VILLAGE. 

The Monsters You Told Your Children About: all the characters except for Mother Miranda are brought back to life by The Duke. Rose is declared a bio weapon by the BSAA and is taken into their custody. Thus begins a road trip where Ethan, with encouragement from The Duke, convinces the four most dangerous monsters he knows to help him rescue his baby.  This story is basically fucked up found family with the mold acting as a Get Along shirt for everyone involved and The Duke eating popcorn.

Contrary to popular belief, this story isn’t dead! Much like Ethan himself, it is merely in a perpetual state of rotting, and that hasn’t kept it from coming back to kick me in the ass whenever I feel inspired to look at it again. Original projection length was stupidly optimistic—this thing needs to be more than 8 chapters long or it’s just going to be nonsense. It needs some structural revision in its planning department, which is why it went cold in the first place; few things more demoralising than realising you’ve lost inspiration and your basic building-blocks suck.

So! I’m keeping the same concept and ideas and just… reworking the elements to flow better as a narrative instead of just being a collection of things I immediately wanted coming out of the game. Of course, this should have been step one all those years ago, but I rather got ahead of myself.

CUPHEAD. 

Untitled project. This was a curve ball to me. Divine inspiration to work out the perfect plot… for something I had wanted to write about in 2017. The devil works in mysterious ways and apparently She wants me to write more fic.

Following the Devil’s retreat, all the souls on the Inkwell Isles are released, and the Casino collapses into dust and rubble. The Casino, which I remind you, belongs once again to its original owner, the newly freed and magicless King Dice, who is not able to counter that degree of property damage. Mostly because even lawyers hate him.

Left with nothing to his name but his soul, King Dice, followed by his loyal court, embarks on a solemn quest: to punch his old boss in the fucking face.

(Featuring: bullying Saltbaker into opening a portal to Hell, Cagney running the woodland mafia, Spirited Away soul trains, and potion brewing with Elder Kettle (he’s being held at gun point.) Not show compliant, I have never watched it.)

I’m not thinking about this one too hard. I’m hoping if I stop looking at it, it’ll go away (it won’t.)

[northern-passage]

Hello! I have a few questions as someone who takes great inspiration from brilliant works of interaction fiction and similar methods of storytelling. I hope you don’t mind me asking!

1. If there something that draws you to the current format of interactive fiction storytelling rather than something such as a visual novel? Do you enjoy it more, is it less costly, easier for you, etc…?

2. What are some of the most prevalent difficulties in writing within the medium?

3. What do you wish you knew before you began writing interactive fiction?

Keep up the incredible work, I always love seeing what you post and create <3

ohhh these are fun questions :-) thank you!

question 1: i actually tried to do a visual novel first! but it is a LOT of work. i managed to do some sprites and a few backgrounds before i gave up. if i was to try and do it again i'd have to pay another artist to join me which just isn't feasible for me right now. i suppose the things i like about IF could be applied to VNs too, but i like what interactive fiction adds to whatever narrative you're trying to tell. the medium itself is a part of the story, if that makes sense. it can't exist without the main character who can't exist without a player to guide them. i like giving the player choices & i like taking them away. i like how vast the genre is, and i like seeing how other people use the mechanics and code to pull off some really interesting & unique stories.

question 2: hmmm i think what gets hard for me is just fatigue... when you write big branching narratives, you have to write a lot of tedious shit, hahaha. like currently with blood choke i've been working on the same conversation for about 3 weeks. there are dozens of variations of it, depending on who the mc is, what choices they've made, and how the other character feels about them, and whether or not the mc went with her or went with someone else means the conversation has to be shuffled around elsewhere in the chapter, and it's all extremely extremely tedious. it feels like you're writing so much, but it's literally just one conversation, one scene in the entire chapter. but you have to write it about 20 times. so it's easy in IF to run out of steam very quickly. i definitely think that's what happened with me with tnp, i hit a huge block after writing all of the combat variations in ch2, i was just so exhausted & knowing that i would have to write even more complex scenes at the end of the chapter accounting for all of it was very demoralizing. BUT i feel like my long break has helped quite a bit and i am excited to get back into tnp next month 😈

question 3: this one is tough... i'm not really sure, to be honest. i've been here for a while now and i feel pretty comfortable for the most part. i was a reader & a lurker before i started writing so i got to see a lot of the way other readers treat writers before i became one, which was helpful for me. i think if i could go back i'd tell myself that this was going to be a way bigger project than i anticipated. and also tell myself that this is my hobby and i should be having fun, not stressing or worrying about making money or pleasing other people. of course i want people to like my work and i appreciate their support, but that shouldn’t be the only reason why i'm writing… i’m writing because i want to.

[lady-wallace]

INTEREST CHECK RESULTS

Alright, it took me longer to get this up than intended, but mostly because I've actually been busy working on stuff behind the scenes for the paperbacks/merch the last couple weeks.

Thanks to everyone who sent in their feedback for the project! It really gave me some fun ideas for the merch that will be included.

First of all, I'm excited to announce that the 3rd title you all voted on will be FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

(now I get to draw a lot of shirtless Abbacchio, thank you <;3)

Our full lineup for this round of paperbacks will be:

-Time in a Bottle -All Along the Watchtower -For Whom the Bell Tolls

All three will be released in both paperback and PDF copies, fully illustrated and with full edits/ possible additions. Time in a Bottle is getting a new one-shot addition involving Dio showing up at Giorno's graduation.

MERCH

With the breakdowns from your feedback, this is what I have come up with for the merch options.

REGULAR MERCH: (these items will be included in the base price of the paperbacks)

-Stickers -Prints -Bookmarks -Exclusive One-Shot PDF

BUNDLE MERCH: (these items will be available for the upgraded bundle option in addition to the items listed above. Please note that all of these items will show up in some form but not all of them will be available for every bundle, i.e. you might get an acrylic keychain with one book bundle, but an acrylic pin with another. I may also make a couple of these items into an add-on you will be able to add to any order)

-Acrylic Keychain -Washi Tape -Notebook -Stationary Set -Acrylic Pin -Buttons

The full merch packages will also be available as an upgrade for people purchasing just PDF copies or PDF bundles

Official pricing is still TBD as I will have to figure out base costs of items to make sure I can fit everything into the voted on price range if possible, but the aprox range of costs for each item is listed below (not including shipping):

-PDF (no merch) $5-8 -PDF (with base merch) $8-12 -PDF (with bundle merch) $15-18 -Paperback (with base merch) $15-20 -Paperback (with bundle merch) $45-55

~~~~

ONE SHOT IDEA SUBMISSIONS

Since an exclusive one-shot will be part of the merch pack, I am looking for ideas for the story. If you have an idea you would like to see, please submit it in the form below! I'm mainly looking for Part 5 based ideas--they can be related to one of the stories or they can be totally original. If I choose your idea, I will be crediting you in the author's note of the story.

This form will be open through mid-March so if you can't think of anything right now, you can come back to it later :)

SUBMIT HERE

~~~~

In other news, considering the votes on the interest check, the Vampire Hunter AU will be next up on the docket for a paperback edition.

~~~~

If you have any questions, feel free to reach out via tumblr asks!

More news will be coming within the next month, but if you want to stay up to date or get to see things early, come join my discord server (we also just have a lot of good fandom chatting going on over there)

[centrally-unplanned]

Here is my Comiket haul, for those who may care!

Arranged on the apartment chabudai for maximum weeb vibes. I won't go through all of them, just note a few to showcase the diversity of things that were on offer. If there is one someone wants a deep dive on, let me know, happy to take photos!

First up, the centerfold star - A Bocchi/Shimo-Kitazawa Fan Celebration doujin in the shape of a vinyl record:

Its extremely adorable, these guys went all in. It comes in an album case with "tracks", the vinyl-shaped doujin has an A side and a B side with totally different content when flipped, and when you are reading it the text slowly rotates page by page as if you are "playing" the disc.

Some of it is the circle's thoughts on Bocchi, but more is about their love for the part of Tokyo that Bocchi takes place in, Shimo-Kitazawa, with sections on show-accurate locations and favourite cafes and stores. They even included a map with all of the spots they recommend you visit in the area!

This one is to me the most "magic of doujin": we all have favourite parts of our cities, and if we sat down could maybe make a map like this. But why would we do that? Who would care? The joint power of a locally-set anime & Comiket, however, makes that personal map into a piece of art people want to own. This piece is pure creativity & passion, and its very special for that - a symbol of doujinshi.

Also one of their members spoke fluent English and aggressively upsold foreigners at the event ^_^ Successfully so! Good job.

For something a little less high concept, this tiny artbook of Rin from Laid-Back Camp as Ghibli characters is adorable:

A smol kiki, too cute. And look at her as Nausicaa! Full blue and ready to kick ass.

Its like 5 pages and each page is a gem, great buy.

This next one is a genre of book I really love - the photography/anime composite book focusing on scene locations, starring our girl Haruhi Suzumiya:

I appreciate how much fun this one has with its concept, lots of cute drawings on the margins; and the photographs are not all Haruhi related, instead it is just the author's own journey put through a Haruhi lens. This book is another great example of how "transformative" these works are, breaking the bounds of their source material.

"Hey, its me!"

Okay, now for some extreme Ash-brand doujin - Flowers for Yamada-san, a history doujin about Hiroyoshi Yamada, also known by the name Koji Kawamoto, a manga & magazine editor who played an instrumental part of the lolicon boom of the 1980's:

He passed away this year, and so this doujin is a memorial to him, an accounting of his influence and role in early manga, a wider discussion of the lolicon boom in general, and its own creative work; sandwiched between essays are comic depictions of moments of his career done in a mimicry the classic loli/bishoujo early 80's style:

This will of course take some time to read - I am excited to dig into it. As I have mentioned before, I am toying with the idea of a deeper research project on the "lolicon boom"; its, for understandable reasons, extremely neglected in western discourse of the history of anime & manga. But that moral aversion doesn't change how instrumental this period was, so I think a lot of good work could be done documenting and explaining its place. This book was an amazing find to stumble upon, and the creators are extremely well-researched on this period.

Anyway this is probably long enough lol. I did find some ero-doujin as well of course, though very few - as I mentioned, Comiket was a warzone, and I did not 'prep' for that side of things. I laughed at the idea of people doing days of research to prep of their porn buying adventure - I was the fool, they the wise, you absolutely need to do that if that is your goal. It wasn't really mine but I respect it now for sure - and I actually found the Comiket experience sort of liberating on that front, I "get it" now in a way I didn't before.

This is of course a tiny sliver of the book buys from Japan - hopefully I can make a few posts about the rest soon.

[macawritesupdates]

Writing Update 10/21/2024

MAN where have I been with chapter updates?? The question is hecka busy with work and having to pick up a second job. Just a lot to do of late! Also having art that has due dates, so have had to spend free time on that.

BUT back in the driver's seat! Hoping to get some updates for everyone soon <3

JUJUTSU KAISEN LONGFIC UPDATES

Lessons in Accidental Seduction: Next chapter has one scene left to write and then it is done! So should be out sooner rather than later!

Malevolence of Love: Next chapter is coming along super well! Taking my time with the chapter as it is a huge one story-wise, and hoping you will all enjoy the big reunion!

Broken in the Ways No One Sees: Next chapter is coming along very well and hoping to finish it up soon! This story is two chapters away from finishing.

Spouse Wanted: Chapter is slowly working out. Taking my time as we are finally figuring out who tops and who bottoms....and want to handle it in a way I think will satisfy most readers, but hopefully this week it will have an update too.

Careful What you Joke About: Broke ground on the next chapter! The plot is going to kick up again so I hope you are all ready for the drama!

The Yuuji Files: Haven't started the next chapter just yet. Letting it sit a bit while I finish up some other chapters and stories for now.

Who's a Good Boy: Been starting to get some progress done, just slow going as don't want to rush it but also more excited to write the chapter after this one.

Culturally Inappropriate: About 8k words in for the first chapter and still figuring out the direction and how to wrap the first chapter up. It is the sequel to Historically Inaccurate, so want to keep up that same emotional bite and momentum, so taking my time with it. Soon though....

When You Get Two Grandsons: Putting this one a bit on the backburner as I work on some of the larger fics and see about wrapping some of these stories up!

Mirrored Lives: Still haven't settled down to get the long draft done for this one, but still on the backburner! Can't Help a Cuddle: Got all the reader suggestions put in the doc and now just have to go about sorting it all and organizing it into a coherent chapter! Hopefully will have time soon to handle that!

MY HERO ACADAMIA FIC UPDATES

Jealousy is Not a Good Friend: Next chapter is well on the way to being done! Just been really inspired for this chapter. didn't get any reader suggestions, so I'm just throwing in some plot and seeing if there will be bites next time <3

Unsung Heroes: ONE DAY I'LL HAVE TIME TO WORK ON THIS ONE AHHH! IT LIVES RENT FREE IN MY HEAD ALL DAY EVERY DAY AHHH!

A Rut Time of It: Want to get back to the idiots in this one....

ONE -SHOTS

Pull Me Along if I Can’t Move Forward: Deku/Bakugo fic that has a bit of progress made! Excited to share <3

Once Upon a Blob: Sukuna, now Blobkuna, has a plan to get his body back and it involves the old fairy tale cliche of love's true kiss. Chaos ensures.

And That's When I knew It (Might change the title though!): A silly Uraraka/Kirishima one-shot where something horribly embarrassing happens and feelings are had (and spice XD)

Rituals of Ascension: ABO in the Heian era involving bitching and just pwp ….

FICS TO COME

Exploration: ABO Modern Sukuita fic that is still mostly a concept for now.

Unnamed: Kugikuna fic because I'm in a mood to write something for em…

We Wretched Few: Fleshing out the idea and preparing it for pre-producting

Law Meets Disorder: Slowing down on it as I work to get it mapped out properly, but it is in the works for pre-production!

The Dragon Story: I am worldbuilding so much for this one…debating if I might try to manga page draw it? We'll see…

Collab fic: Doing a collab fic with someone! It is in the first little bit so more info coming as the project evolves! <3